


the name of the game

by a_sassin



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Civilian OC, Clan Politics, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gratuitous Smut, Inspired by The Queen's Gambit, M/M, Miyu/shogi, Multi, Non-Massacre AU, OT3, Original Character(s), Politics, Slow Burn, eventual OT3, lots of drama i'm warning y'all, miyu has a very good poker face, no beta we die like men, shogi-centric, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27837148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sassin/pseuds/a_sassin
Summary: Once, Miyu thought shogi was the only thing she needed to master.And then she meets Uchiha Itachi, and she's thrown head-first into an entirely different game.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Original Female Character(s), Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Itachi, Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Itachi/Original Character(s), Uchiha Itachi/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 322
Kudos: 354





	1. simply shogi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miyu, meet the team. Team, meet Miyu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I watched the queen's gambit on netflix and this idea would not leave me the hell alone. 
> 
> I'll be using english translations of many words in this e.g. kekkei genkai = bloodline limit, using 'mother' instead of okaa-san, but hey I also add suffixes sometimes alright im INCONSISTENT im warning you now i just do whatever 
> 
> I made up a bunch of world-building stuff, so if you see something that doesn;t look right it most likely is just me fucking around lol
> 
> It's going to be a bit of a slow burn, but you can expect some action around possibly chapter 5 or 6 at this stage but idk 
> 
> Warning: I'm a smut writer so buckle up bc there's gonna be some sin ahead. I'll be changing the rating to explicit when the time comes

Miyu’s always been able to _see_ it.

The shifting of pieces, moves, countermoves. The board, a microcosm of the complex world they live in.

The men she faces are usually traditional. Some are aggressive, some not so much. All defensive if they get an inkling that she might attack.

She reads the board, her opponent’s faces, the time ticking away as they make their moves.

Miyu is fifteen when she plays against the best shogi player in the elemental nations for the first time.

She suffers a loss against him, and it’s not surprising, truly. Makishima Toru, thirty-eight, has played shogi since he was four, and has faced many aspiring champions without faltering.

She cries her heart out in the carriage home because it felt like she validated the swarms of people calling her a fluke, a mistake, worthless.

She’s nineteen when she faces him again.

Nineteen when _she_ becomes the best player in the elemental nations.

Nineteen, thinking she’s ready to hold that mantle upon her shoulders. And she does, for a time.

But Miyu had been so blissfully unaware that it was just the beginning of an entirely different game.

.

The ninja are from Konoha.

Miyu reads it in the engraved insignia they each hold close to their person. Hears it in their friendly, professional tone. Catches wafts of it on the faint traces of greenery scented like Hashirama leaves that drifts to her from their clothes.

Most of all, she observes it in the four ninja’s movement as one unit.

Teamwork.

Konoha is famous for the bonds they share with their own. Other villages try to mock them for it, for being the _soft_ ones, but Miyu thinks it makes them anything but.

Her most effective plays revolve around using her pieces together to corner opponents, or wrestle her way out of a seemingly inescapable pin.

That - and Miyu thinks that there is nothing quite so persevering as the need to _protect_ those you love. She’s seen it in the mothers who lift collapsed beams off their children. In fathers who bloody their fists against their daughter’s attackers.

Friends, who push each other out of harms way, or carry someone sick to the hospital, or – or –

Or stand, giving you their backs as they stop those who would hurt you with their own body.

“Sugawara-san,” one of them has stepped forward, his long straight hair pulled into a low ponytail. “I will be leading the team as we escort you to the tournament in Hidden Waterfall.”

Her gaze flits over his fine features, the straight line of his shoulders, the effortless poise with which he bows politely. Clan born, then.

“My name is Uchiha Itachi, and these are my teammates, Nara Shikamaru, Uchiha Shisui, and Aburame Shino.”

Miyu offers a polite smile and bows to him deeply, taking a brief moment to check that her kimono is in place perfectly.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Uchiha-sama,” she says softly as she rises. His dark eyes flicker over her face and she knows she’s surprised him despite his perfect lack of outward emotion.

“Please,” he says, the same polite tone to his voice as her, “there is no need for such formalities, Sugawara-san. I am here as a ninja of Konoha and nothing more.”

Ah, she thinks. Clan heir or close to it, then. Miyu appreciates his attempts at brushing the address off, but as she lets her gaze fall across the rest of the team she realises they have sent more men of great importance.

“Nara-sama,” she murmurs as she bows low once again, “Aburame-sama.”

They each bow in turn, less deeply than she had, of course. Her eyes land on the last member of their group. He’s grinning, body language relaxed and informal.

“Uchiha-san,” she greets, bowing just a fraction less deeply than she had for the heirs.

“Aw, pretty miss, you wound me!” He steps forward, extending a hand to shake. “Nothing for me?”

Miyu reaches out carefully, noting the callouses on his scarred hands and showing none of her amusement on her face.

“Forgive me if I am wrong,” she offers a small placating smile here, “but you are not a clan heir, Uchiha-san.”

His grin widens and he holds her hand in place for a moment.

“How could you tell?”

There’s another question lurking beneath the surface, laced gently with a threat.

She presses her lips together for a moment, just enough to let him know she understands what he’s really insinuating. He has the grace to let his smile turn mildly apologetic.

“Uchiha-sama is too well spoken to be anything but,” she says after a pause, “Nara-sama and Aburame-sama resemble their fathers greatly.”

At this the Nara’s mouth quirks down into an unhappy line. The Aburame doesn’t shift to show any emotion.

“My father complained for a week that a fourteen year old girl with no formal training bested him.”

That prompts a laugh from her and Miyu withdraws her hand to cover her mouth.

“Yes,” she nods, “extend my apologies to him again, will you?”

The team captain is looking at her, blank faced. The other Uchiha is grinning again as he casts a furtive glance to his fellow clansman. The Aburame is frustratingly difficult to read behind his high collar and sunglasses.

And the Nara – the Nara steps forward, and bows again.

“It is an honour to meet you, Sugawara-san.”

Miyu has learnt not to be taken aback by these kinds of displays, even though they make her uncomfortable. A marvel, most would say, because she’s a young woman world dominated by men.

“The sentiment is returned, Nara-sama.”

She meets the Uchiha heir’s eyes, appreciatively noting the long lashes that frame them, and lets the carefully polite posturing ebb from her face and shoulders.

When she speaks there’s warmth to her tone.

“Shall we?”

.

The Uchiha heir is intriguing. He lacks arrogance and the high-bred bias that so often poisons many of her interactions with others. He’s professional, exceptionally quick witted, respectful, and most of all – kind.

It catches her off guard, to be truthful.

Her dinner, already warmed between his palms with a beautiful display of fire techniques by the time she steps out of the carriage.

The clearings he chooses for the night, without much dirt and with grass just short enough to keep her hem from getting stained.

A fire built to smoke as little as possible, blazing with gentle heat that doesn’t stifle her in her many layers.

And when she retires to bed, a tent made up to be warm in the evening, layers of blankets on the ground to soften her resting place.

The bottle of water, small bag of fruit, and her bag of toiletries already within.

These little things charm her more than sweet words or a handsome face ever could.

Not that he isn’t. Handsome, of course.

“Thank you,” she says to him as he helps her into the carriage after their second night camping out.

He tilts his head to the side, and she admires the neat lines of his face as the morning sun filters onto them through the canopy.

“You have been kind to me,” she smiles, and it’s perhaps the first genuine one she’s given any of them along their journey. “So thank you, Uchiha-sama.”

“Itachi,” he says suddenly, voice just a little too loud. “Please,” he drops the volume, seemingly embarrassed, “call me Itachi. Uchiha-sama is my father.”

She laughs and gives his hand the slightest of squeezes before she steps up into the carriage.

“As you wish, Itachi-sama.”

She hears the other Uchiha cackle loudly from the front of the wagon, and bemoans the moment it takes to turn and sit. She had wanted to watch the slight array of emotions that she knows would have glinted through Itachi’s eyes.

“Then,” he says after she’s settled, “may I call you Miyu-san?”

His gaze meets hers and she lets her guard drop for just a moment as she appreciates how _handsome_ he is.

“Certainly.”

He gives her a small, pleased smile, and closes the door to the carriage.

Outside she can hear the other Uchiha laughing again, accompanied by a low grumble from the Nara.

That evening the Nara approaches her.

He’s not displaying much of anything on his face, but the slight twitch of his shoulders lets her know he’s most definitely nervous.

“Sugawara-san,” he begins, fingers twiddling with a scroll at his belt. “I was thinking – well I was _hoping_ , rather, that you might – that we might-”

“Nara-sama,” Miyu says from where she’s seated on a log, basking in the late afternoon sunlight. “Would you like to play a game of shogi?”

In an instant there’s a small pop and a puff of smoke, and a shogi set is in the ninja’s hands. Miyu startles - it’s enough to almost send her toppling from her seat, but a warm, steady hand lands between her shoulder blades to stop her.

“A sealing scroll,” Itachi’s voice comes from behind her. “He carries that board with him everywhere he goes.”

Miyu looks up at Itachi, smiling, “Perhaps you’ll honour me with a game after Nara-sama?”

Itachi’s hand lingers on her back, feather light.

“I would like that very much,” he murmurs, and then leaves to do whatever ninja business he has to do.

Another puff of smoke – it doesn’t startle Miyu this time – and she smothers a laugh because the Nara has packed a blanket, pillows, and a table.

He sets them up quickly, with precise movements that speak of practice. And then he stands and waits for her.

She approaches the blanket. Bows to him shortly, and takes her seat. He sits opposite her, looking stiff and uncomfortable in seiza.

Carefully, she unpacks the board and the pieces, and they begin.

.

When Itachi returns just under an hour later, it’s to Shikamaru slumped on a blanket beside a set shogi table, and Miyu-san sipping inconspicuously at a steaming cup of tea while Shisui howls with laughter.

Wariness fills him as he takes his seat opposite her. Shikamaru sits up and focuses on the board with furious determination.

Miyu beats Itachi in half an hour.

He stares at the board between them, Sharingan activated to burn the pieces into his memory.

“Thank you for the game, Itachi-sama,” Miyu is still sitting in perfect seiza as she bows to him gracefully.

His eyes are drawn to the delicate slope of her neck, her brown hair as it falls over her shoulder to swing before her. Her eyes meet his, and he watches her breath catch at the sight of them. Still, he can’t force himself to stop the flow of chakra.

She’s beautiful. Not just the gentle lines of her face, the soft scent that follows her every move, or even the clever brown eyes that observe and understand so much.

Every careful movement, each measured action, it’s like watching a moving piece of art. One that smiles genuinely only rarely, whose laugh makes something in his gut swoop low. The flutter of her lashes, the slightest blush across her high cheekbones, and Itachi has to force his attention elsewhere.

It’s not the first time he’s been distracted by something beautiful. Still, he lets himself indulge. Just a little.

“Why don’t you play us all?” Shisui suggests, “Not Shino, he’s on watch right now – but us three, Sugawara-san?”

She raises a delicate brow, “There’s only one board.”

Shisui turns his expectant gaze to Shikamaru.

“Ah…” begins the Nara sheepishly, “I have a few spares handy.”

The only inkling that Miyu is taken aback is a single slow blink.

“Well, it’s not quite late yet,” she acknowledges, “if Itachi-sama and Nara-sama wish, I would be happy to oblige.”

.

Shikamaru frowns down at his board. Shogi is an art that has taken him years to learn. And he likes to think – well he _thought_ – he was rather good at it.

The games between he and his father go for at least two hours now.

As far as he knows, both Itachi and Shisui are no slouches either.

The Uchiha, as with most clans and merchants in Konoha, teach their children shogi as soon as they’re old enough to sit seiza. Strategy and poise, and tradition, most of all.

Shisui – well, he may play the grinning fool at times but Shikamaru won’t forget that he was a child genius, promoted to jounin at fourteen and deserving of every moniker given to him.

And yet.

Sugawara Miyu cuts through their defences with her small, steady hands. Three games, three mismatched boards, and not a slip. Not a single moment of weakness or indecision.

He watches her clean up – first Itachi, then Shisui, and finally him.

“You’re a genius,” he breathes, studying Shisui and Itachi’s boards in wonder as they cast Sharingan-red eyes over his board in turn.

“I could say the same for you, Nara-sama,” she placates in that ever-polite tone, reminding him of his status and humbling herself in one breath.

He may only be eighteen, but Shikamaru understands that the woman kneeling before him arms herself with courtesies in the way that often only the highborn do.

“You flatter me,” he says, shaking his head, “I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Come now,” she begins to gather the pieces with those pale, graceful hands. “Your first thirty-four moves were solid. Caution took that game from you more than I.”

Her fingers rearrange the pieces on the board, and she points with a slender finger at his general.

“Here,” she says, “your forty-sixth move.”

She remembers the board. Holy _shit_ , she remembers every single move.

“You held back, fortified your defence,” she points to his bishop on the other side of the board, “you could have launched an attack – backed it up with your knight, and here-”

She shifts the pieces around as she had indicated, and suddenly Shikamaru witnesses his seemingly dire position change. The board opens up, broadening her area of focus in a way he hadn’t thought could be done that far into the midgame.

“Amazing,” he breathes again.

“Do me, do me!” Shisui is practically vibrating with excitement beside him. Shikamaru watches in awe as she retraces the game move by move, instigates careful, clever attacks on her own pawns that might have helped them hold out against her.

“That was… fun,” she murmurs once Shikamaru has cuffed Shisui over the head to get him to shut up. “I would be glad to join you in play again Nara-sama, Uchiha-san, Itachi-sama.” She nods her head respectfully to each of them in turn.

“Don’t tell Shikamaru that,” snorts Shisui, rubbing against the back of his head, “the stamina of a ninja and the shogi obsession of a Nara is something to behold.”

She huffs out a small laugh, accepting the bowl of rice and sautéed beef that Itachi has been meticulously preparing over the fire in the twenty minutes it’s taken to break down Shisui’s match.

“Thank you,” she says, the fine dusting of pink across her cheekbones the only sign of Shikamaru’s observed magnetism between the shogi player and Itachi. 

Sasuke’s older brother has always been difficult to read. But here, away from the prying eyes of Konoha’s gossip mill, Shikamaru watches as the Clan Heir softens his reactions. Just enough for civilian eyes to catch the emotion in his gaze, hear the uncharacteristic rasp to his tone, feel the touches that he lets linger when they cross paths.

It’s enchanting. Like watching two exotic birds dance in a pattern only they know.

But Shikamaru finds himself wondering at Itachi’s actions. As the Heir to the Uchiha, he has been betrothed since he was nine.

What the _hell_ is he playing at?

.

Miyu enters the room at a steady, calm pace. Two of her escorts are seated in the front row behind her, and she assumes the other two are doing a perimeter check.

It makes her feel better – a Konoha contingent is a statement from the land of Fire to the Waterfall Village. Three clan heirs, and a supposed legend.

She settles into seiza, facing the door as the higher ranked player, and waits for her opponent to take their seat.

Ito Mamaru, thirty-two. Resident shogi champion of Waterfall. A wife, two young children, and the expectations of an ambitious Kage on his shoulders.

To beat the current elemental champion, who happens to belong to Fire, which, as it happens, hosts perhaps the strongest Hidden Village the world has seen?

This is an opportunity the Kage of Waterfall would be loathe to miss.

They bow to one another respectfully, and Miyu begins unpacking the pieces. The room, aside from the clinking of shogi tiles and the breathing of its many occupants, is silent.

Miyu takes a moment to settle herself. Schools her face into careful politeness as she extends a hand and begins organising her opening.

Here, she is calm. Here, she is in control. Here, she is _Miyu_.

They begin.

Between turns, the pieces shift and the board blurs as her mind scrambles the game, breaking down the strategy in an orderly chaos.

Soon the line opens up, and with each of Ito’s captured pieces the probability of victory inches closer until her horizon is clear of obstacles and the chance of winning is no longer a _chance._

He hasn’t seen it yet.

Probably won’t, not for another six moves.

Miyu plays them carefully anyway, and offers her opponent the respect of her follow through. He will want no pity.

It concludes, as she expected, in six moves.

For a minute – and then two, and then three, Ito stares at the board. She can see the moment it registers so _clearly_.

The slight downturn to his narrow lips. His nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, trying to keep it slow and absent of panic. The slight tightening of the skin around his eyes. A slight sheen of sweat on his temple.

Two years ago this had been her. Hands trembling beneath the table as Makishima destroyed her in the final round of the championships.

She’d kept her composure, just barely. Hung on, all nails and teeth and bone deep desperation because she couldn’t cry - couldn’t falter, not in front of anyone. No, they wanted her to shake, wanted her to cry, to lose herself in the frustration of a loss.

But she could not. Would not.

They want her to fail. Want to be proven right about women being frail, fickle things with no place in the game that is now _her_ domain.

They will not see her bleed.

Finally Ito bows.

Miyu bows back, a fraction shallower.

She rises, and the audience follow. They bow to her, and she to them, but she is not fooled.

These men _hate_ her. Oh, they still bow low, but gods, their eyes burn with righteous fury to see a woman in the place of high respect. The absence of proper recognition from the shogi association is the little bit of vindictiveness they cling to, their proof that she is _worthless_. 

Miyu keeps her shoulders level and her steps even as she walks from the playing hall, her escorts hot on her heels.

“Brilliant,” Shikamaru leans in, the word meant for her ears only.

She smiles privately, and continues leading the way back to their inn.

.

“Thank you,” Miyu smiles to the Aburame as he hands her another warm cup of sake.

“You are welcome.”

She’s used to the monotonous voice by now, and catches the slight upturn at the end of his reply. Happy, then. Or perhaps, genuine?

She brushes off the observation and indulges in her fourth cup. Another victory, so she thinks she’s earned it.

“Miyu-san,” Itachi’s smooth tone sends a tingle of pleasure rolling down her chest. “May I ask you something?”

Ignoring the urge to point out that he has already done that, she nods and takes a bite from the green tea mochi they’d bought that morning in Waterfall.

“How did you become the best?” His dark eyes watch her from the other end of the log she’s seated on.

“I read your file,” Shikamaru speaks up from the other side of the fire before she can reply. “What little there is in it, at least. You’re not a clan kid, and the school you went to didn’t have a shogi club. Or even a shogi _book_.”

Smiling into the rim of her cup, she takes a sip and then lowers it slowly. They wait patiently for her answer.

“I learnt,” she says, tasting sake and mochi on her tongue, “from the grocer down the street when I was eight.”

There silence around the campfire. She can feel eyes on her, heavy – taking in every breath, every movement.

“We sat on milk crates behind his counter. In between customers, he explained the pieces. The strategies.”

She smiles and it’s almost wistful. 

“I started beating him by the time I was nine. He kicked me out of his store and told me to find real competitions to play in. Sent me along with as many books on strategy as he could afford.”

Her gaze drops to her hands, smooth and pale. Small.

“I didn’t have enough money for the first one. So I went to small street tournaments – at nine, just a girl, and bet money I didn’t have on games against men three times my age.”

She lets out a long, slow breath.

“I won them. I made enough to join official tournaments, and I started winning those, too.”

She thinks of prize money, the stunned faces of her opponents. No one had called it a fluke because you just _can’t_ fluke against the calibre of players she had faced.

“What about school?” The Nara asks, and the raw interest in his tone catches her off guard.

“Oh, I skipped,” she says, half laughing, “not many people cared if a no name civilian didn’t come to class or not. Besides,” she shrugs, “the capital isn’t like the hidden villages. I was a girl born to poor parents. Worth less to them than a nanny goat, or a pair of chickens.”

She shrugs, watching the firelight flicker in the depths of her cup. “To some, I’m still worth that – champion or not.”

They don’t stiffen. They’re ninja, and broadcasting their emotions isn’t something they _do_. But the air grows heavy at her words, nonetheless.

“How’d you get so good?” Asks Shisui, serious for perhaps the first time since she met him.

Here, Miyu hesitates, sake and sugar hot in her veins.

“At night,” she says, lifting her gaze to stare into the fire, “when my father was busy beating my mother senseless on the other side of my door, I’d look up at my ceiling.”

She can remember it so clearly. The ratty, paper-thin walls. Her lumpy, threadbare futon. The small, battered dresser in the corner. Her window, cracked and rickety, making a rattling whistle every time the wind swept past.

Dust, along the old wooden skirting.

Stained tatami, ugly and mismatched.

And the ceiling - watermarked and patchy, shifting into the board that has come to symbolise so much more to her than a game.

Every facet of her tiny childhood room burnt into the backs of her eyelids.

“On it, I saw a board. Pieces. And I’d play, for hours and hours, going through strategies, playing whole games, for years.”

She stops then. Remembers nights where her eyes had been swollen shut, small casualties of her father’s fists. Still she’d force them open, deal with the hot, stinging tears and the discomfort – and on her ceiling, the pieces. Blurred and wavering, but present.

In her darkest hours, body aching with cold, stomach churning in hunger, the ceiling was all she had.

Even now, when she’s faced with the reality of what she is – Miyu stares up at her ceiling and lets the pieces whir.

Because she is nothing more than a civilian woman without family, no grand name, and wealth in the form of tournament money and good investments - a decent enough dowry, though she had fought tooth and nail for it and is loathe to give it up. For a man, at that? Distasteful.

The real world is complex. Regrettably, shogi has only an echo of its depth. It makes the reign she has over the board addictive. It’s where she is safe, powerful, and most importantly – on even ground with her opponent.

She can’t help but marry the pieces she so often sees with people she meets in her everyday life.

Ninja, pawns.

Noble families, knights.

Kage, generals and kings.

The thought of her own place? It makes Miyu _sick_.

But Daimyo?

The Daimyo are the players, blundering and selfish, and often disgustingly incompetent. She could do it better. She _would_ do it better, if she dared to think about it for more than a minute at a time.

Here she is, a master of strategy, fighting every day to be recognised and somehow terrified of such recognition becoming reality. Yet, the alternative is somehow just as bad.

Remaining nameless and faceless keeps her as an inconspicuous annoyance, a mere imperfect grain in the wood of the board.

But respect – true respect – the attention of bigger fish, the threat of innumerable contenders, all of whom could want her dead and have it done easily?

That might just be worse.

The ninja ask her no more questions that night.

.

The fire is low, but still crackling as Miyu exits the tent. Her hair is down for once, and she’s in her warm sleep wear and slippers, but the air is chilly, so she sits on the log closest to the fire.

She appreciates the audible footsteps of whoever is on guard. The sight of them in her peripherals doesn’t startle her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says softly, absorbed by the flickering glow of the coals. “Sorry to-”

“Don’t apologise,” Itachi’s low murmur is a welcome sound. “Would you care for some company?”

Miyu nods, and he places a few small logs onto the fire before he sits beside her. Close enough that she can feel the heat of him against her side, a sharp contrast to the biting air of the early morning hours.

“Sometimes,” her voice is barely above a hush, “after games, I can’t stop replaying the entire thing.”

She feels his dark eyes watching her face, and realises she’s too tired to stop him from seeing how she feels.

“I can’t stop thinking about the holes in my play.” It sounds silly spoken aloud.

“You won.” She hears the question in his statement.

“This time,” she offers with a wry smile.

“You’re the best player in the world,” he shifts his gaze on to the fire, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs.

“Today, maybe,” she sighs, “but tomorrow? The day after?”

“I’ve never seen anyone play like you,” he says, as though it means anything.

They sit in silence for a moment.

“You must think me pathetic,” she murmurs softly, “to question every decision like this.”

“I think you’re cautious,” he turns to look at her again. “You’re not arrogant or entitled. I think it makes you the best.”

Her eyes feel a fraction too warm, and she chokes out a little laugh.

“I’m such a fake. I act calm and steady, but I’m really terrified of failure.”

She turns her head to meet his eyes.

“If I lose,” her voice feels thick, “it means they’re right. It means – I-”

He settles a warm, scarred hand over hers.

“It means,” he says firmly, “that you will try again.”

She can’t seem to look away from his face even as she begins to shiver.

“You’re cold,” he tugs her hands between his, turning her to face him. “Do you trust me?”

It’s a loaded question that she thinks him cruel to ask _now_ \- with his handsome features exaggerated in the shadows the low fire casts.

She forcefully doesn’t overthink it.

“Yes.”

There. Simple.

And then he closes his eyes and takes in a slow, measured breath.

As he begins to breathe out, the parts of her hands where they’re touching begins to tingle.

Another breath in, and with his next exhale – warmth.

It seeps into her hands, up her arms, coiling in her veins comfortingly. Slowly it creeps up to her shoulders, and begins to spill into her torso, rolling down her back like a trickle of hot water. Soon she’s toasty warm from her toes to her neck.

“Amazing,” she manages around a soft, disbelieving laugh, “ninja do this whenever they feel cold?”

His head is tilted to the side, dark eyes drinking in the small curls of fog that come with her every excited exhale. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her smile flashes a glimpse of her straight teeth.

“It’s a secret clan technique,” he admits, letting his thumbs stroke gently over the soft skin along the backs of her hands. “We call it breath of fire.”

“Ah,” she huffs another laugh, “and I tried so hard not to overthink your question.”

“Hn?” Itachi tries not to get lost in the way the golden glow of the fire curves along her jaw.

“Trust,” she’s looking up at him, her lips half quirked in an amused smile. “You asked if you had mine.”

“I did,” he tilts his head to the side slightly and watches as she mirrors him. A lock of her long hair slips from behind her shoulder to fall against her neck.

“And yet,” he can hear her resisting the urge to laugh again, “you are the one who showed _me_ the secret technique.”

Itachi shrugs, wishing he could activate his Sharingan. But this moment is too fragile. He will do all he can not to shatter it.

“You told me something about yourself,” he hums, “it was a fair trade.”

“Fair?” she quirks a brow, “You know my deepest, darkest, most _terrible_ fear,” her eyes glimmer with amusement, “and here I am, none the wiser about you or _your_ worst fears.”

He pauses, letting his lip quirk upwards just slightly.

“And if I told you I fear nothing?”

She searches his face for a sobering moment. Her hands twist in his grasp until she can wrap her fingers around his calloused palms.

“You’d be lying,” she tells him, leaning in, “those who fear nothing _love_ nothing.”

Itachi watches the shadows her lashes cast unabashedly.

“I don’t think you are a man who loves nothing, or no one.”

Here, he spots his opportunity. Contemplates for just a moment on whether to take it.

“You’d be right,” he keeps his voice low.

“I know,” she grins and it stirs something in his chest to watch her face glow with emotion.

“I have a brother,” he says simply. “I was five when he was born. I swore that day to be the best big brother ever.”

Miyu laughs and it’s just loud enough to have woken the others, but Itachi doesn’t have it in him to care all that much.

“I can imagine that,” she chuckles, “a tiny, serious you, swearing a vow over a screeching newborn.”

“He only screeched a little,” Itachi admits, letting himself smile for what feels like the first time in a while.

He doesn’t miss the way her eyes lock on to his face, pleased.

“I bet you are,” her eyes flicker up to the stars and she watches them for a moment. “The best brother.”

Itachi shrugs, opens his mouth to reply, and cuts himself short when he sees Shisui step out from a tent.

“Shift change,” he says with a shit eating grin, trying to sound apologetic and doing a terrible job of it.

Miyu pulls her hands from his as she stands, casting him a quick smile as she steps towards her tent.

“I should get some sleep. Good night.”

Itachi watches as she ducks into the tent, and then turns his blank gaze to his troublesome cousin.

“Terribly sorry,” Shisui yawns, placing his hands behind his head as he cocks his head back to take in the night sky. “You’re the one who insisted on keeping the shift rotation punctual, if I remember correctly-”

“Shisui.”

Itachi tries not to be annoyed. But the way her face had closed off so immediately at the sound of a voice that wasn’t _his_ makes Itachi want to set his clansman alight.

“Sheesh, ‘Tachi. Cool it with the killing intent, yeah?”

He lays off it, exhaling sharply through his nose as he stands.

“I’ll do a perimeter sweep,” he says needlessly, shooting Shisui a quelling look.

“Yeah, yeah.” Shisui grumbles, “But make it quick. You’re prissy without your beauty sleep, ya know?”

If Itachi discreetly sets Shisui’s hair on fire as he leaves, that’s his business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head-canon: Shisui is a troll and Itachi has definitely set his hair on fire on more than one occasion.


	2. rumours and ravens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Miyu engages in respectful flirting, learns a little about the Konoha rumour mill, and faces her greatest competition to date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah yeah, I know they're crows not ravens but Masa is old and she cant see great okay don't judge her!!!!
> 
> This chapter will feature an Okiya. For those of you who aren't familiar, an Okiya is a lodging house for geisha and maiko (geisha-in-training). The okaa-san (mother) of the Okiya usually runs it and is most commonly an ex-geisha. Inheritance of an Okiya occurs when an okaa-san inherits a protege to take over. I hope that's accurate and if it's not - sorry lol, go to wikipedia or something idk
> 
> enjoy ma dudes

Miyu steps out of the carriage slowly. 

It’s only been five days since she left, but she knows her work will have piled up in her absence. She looks to the team of ninja assembled before her and gives them a deep bow. 

“I thank you for your service,” she rises, and offers a smile.

“It was our honour,” Itachi says, and the four of them bow as one. 

Miyu glances down the line of crowded food vendors. The sun is just skimming the horizon, and if she doesn’t make any stops along the way she might make it back home in time for dinner. 

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come to Konoha?” Shikamaru tries one last time, lips quirked in a half-smile. 

“Unfortunately, I have duties here that must be attended to.” 

She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a neatly folded piece of paper. Within it, the transcript of her game against Ito, and one of her previous games against Makishima.

“For you,” she says, “and your father.” 

He accepts the paper with a nod, sharp eyes peering at it curiously. He won’t open it in public – ninja are too cautious for that – and a part of her regrets that she won’t be there to see his reaction when he opens it.

“Miyu-san,” Itachi steps forward, blocking the others from view, “let me walk you home.” 

He meets her eye. Gives her a few moments to process. Another moment to decline. 

“That would be appreciated, thank you.” 

She steps to the side, smiles once more at the team, and says, “I hope we meet again. I wish you safe travels back to Konoha.”

And then she and Itachi fall into step together, headed to the flower district. She wonders what he will think of it, if he thinks anything of it at all. 

“I wanted to ask,” he says, once the crowds have thinned, “if I could write to you.” 

Miyu keeps her face clear and neutral. 

The Uchiha heir, asking to write. It’s likely he has been betrothed since he was a child, but ninja can be odd when it comes to duty. The Uchiha are strong, and a connection with the future clan head could boast many benefits over time, given she puts effort into their correspondence. 

So she should say yes. For that reason alone. 

Not because she wants to hear from Itachi again. _Definitely_ not because of that. 

“I’d like that very much,” she says, and tries not to let her breath hitch audibly when his arm brushes against hers. 

“Hn.”

She looks up at him. He’s staring at the street ahead, but there’s a softness to the line of his mouth. 

“I was worried you’d decline.” 

Miyu refocuses on the path, the Okiya within her sights now.

“And I was worried you wouldn’t ask.” 

He makes no comment, but she gets the distinct feeling that he’s pleased. 

They slow to a stop before the Okiya, and she watches his face closely as he takes in the traditional building. His expression is unreadable, but that says enough. Surprised, then. 

He bites at his thumb and crouches to the ground in a movement almost too swift for her eyes to follow. When he rises, there’s a crow perched on his wrist. 

“Miyu-san, meet Chikako. Chikako, this is Miyu-san.” 

The bird peers at her with beady eyes. Miyu hasn’t spent all that much time around ninja and isn’t quite sure how to react. Well, a bit of posturing never goes amiss. 

“Hello, Chikako-san. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She bows neatly, and when she stands straight, she notices that Itachi’s lips are twitching. 

“Oh, I like this one,” the crow says. Because of course, it speaks. “Keep the bowing up and I’ll subcontract to you myself. For a small fee, of course.”

“Chikako,” Itachi sounds mildly exasperated. “I wish to write Miyu-san, this is her home.”

“Ah,” the bird says ruffling its black feathers for a moment. “Does Shisui know? That cheeky bastard won’t be able to keep his mouth shut. You’ll be the juiciest gossip in the village by the week’s end, mark my words.”

“Chikako,” Itachi sighs, and his long-suffering expression prompts Miyu to intervene. 

“I’m inclined to believe it’ll be gossip within hours, Chikako-san,” she comments lightly, “care to bet on it?” 

“Oho!” the crow hops from foot to foot, tilting its sleek little head in excitement. “I want a whole stack of shiny things! I like rings, they’re easy to hang around my tree.” 

“Done.” Miyu nods. “And I’d like a play-by-play of exactly what kind of gossip is spreading. You’ll take extra care with the gathering of that intel, I presume?”

“What do you take me for?” scoffs Chikako, “Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your deal of the rumour mill. Which window’s yours?” 

Miyu clamps down the urge to smile and shares an amused look with Itachi. 

“Back window on the second floor. I’ve got a cactus in my windowsill. It’s wearing a hat.” 

The admission feels silly to say, but she’s not willing to divulge Popo-chan’s eccentricities. That cacti has been her faithful companion since she arrived at the Okiya. 

“Cowboy cactus, got it. Geez, Itachi-sama, you know how to pick ‘em.”

“Chikako,” there’s definitely some exasperation to his tone now, and Miyu is starting to wonder at the bird’s ability to bring this much emotion out of him in nary a minute. 

“Anyway, I’m a busy chit,” sighs Chikako, “don’t have the time to sit around and chat today. Get those rings ready, Mi-chan, you’re gonna need ‘em.” 

And with – is that a _wink?_ – the crow disappears in a puff of smoke. 

Miyu blinks at Itachi’s outstretched hand for a long moment. 

“I apologise,” he murmurs, “Chikako is my smallest and most discrete summons. She can only be sent by Shisui or I, so if you see her you know our correspondence is secure.”

Ah, security. Yes. Ninja and all. 

“I think she winked at me,” Miyu says, feeling a little on the back foot. “I didn’t know birds could wink. If it even was that. Am I seeing _things_ now? Is that a side effect of being around ninja? Be honest, I just saw a bird _talk_ , I don’t think anything you can say will surprise me at this point.” 

He does surprise her then. 

Only, not with words. 

The sound of his laughter has her frozen. It’s a deep sound, full and warm and without restraint. It makes the corners of her own lips tilt up – until she’s grinning at him like a fool out on the street where _anyone_ could see, gods – 

She forces her smile away, drops her gaze to his hands, and takes a few seconds to compose herself. 

Oh, but it had been such a beautiful sound. 

“Forgive me,” she says once she’s cleared her throat lightly, “I’m babbling. I’m unused to animals that can - well, talk.” 

_Let alone wink, damn it._

“Only if you forgive me for not giving you warning.”

Damn this Uchiha heir. 

“We’re in the capital, Itachi-sama.” - _This is something I should be somewhat familiar with._

“Ninja summon most commonly in private, Miyu-san.” _It’s unlikely you’d have seen this before._

“You just did it in the middle of a busy street.” _No need to make excuses for my gracelessness._

“With only you around to see.” _I know that no one was looking. It was for your eyes only._

She presses her lips together, unsure whether she wants to smile or scowl. Repressing the urge to do either, she nods and accepts the impasse. 

“You’ll write?” she asks, reluctant to part suddenly. 

“I’ll write,” he nods, and reaches out a hand to clasp one of hers briefly. 

And in the space between one blink and the next, he is gone.

She enters the Okiya, calling out a greeting just loud enough to carry to the communal areas.

“Hm,” a figure appears in the doorway leading up the stairs, wrapped in an elegant yukata that lets Miyu know that the day had been a quiet one.

“You’re back,” the disinterest in the woman’s tone is borderline insulting, as though she’s observing one of the stray cats that frequents their Okiya.

“Nanami,” Miyu nods respectfully, a stark contrast to her address, “I assume Mother is in?”

“Where else would she be?” Nanami’s not scowling. She’s too refined for that.

Instead her lips twist into a delicate scorn. Miyu carefully toes her shoes off and arranges them neatly on the rack beside the door.

“Perhaps keeping an ear open for nobleman’s gossip?” Miyu suggests with innocence unbefitting of the deep curl of satisfaction in her gut at Nanami’s flaring nostrils.

It’s no secret that Nanami’s most immediate rival has threatened her standing as of late. The geisha often refers to this _Tomiko_ as a cheap imitation, nothing more than a shallow no-good fifteen-minute sensation.

“And you?” Nanami’s voice keeps its calm. “Here to gloat, are you?”

Miyu raises a delicate brow.

“I live here, Nanami.”

A delicate laugh, thinly veiled venom in the lines of the geisha’s smile.

“Yes, and I suppose you think it's permanent.”

Miyu only narrowly represses the urge to roll her eyes. Nanami can be so transparent.

“I don’t know how many times I must remind you,” she begins with a sigh, “I’m not trying to get adopted. I just want to play shogi. You should be thankful you don’t have to deal with any of your correspondence.”

Nanami’s lips quirk into the beginnings of one of her few rare shows of genuine emotion.

“Good. Just ensuring your most recent victory didn’t get to your head.”

Miyu does roll her eyes then as she steps into the kitchen, “Really, Nanami. You’re slipping. I read the intent within a minute.”

“Oh, _do_ shut up,” says the geisha, half a step behind her, “I haven’t had my dinner. Can’t expect much when I’m working on an empty stomach.”

“Lucky our dear Masa has cooked us this beautiful meal,” Miyu says much too loudly. But Masa is half-deaf, and if you don’t shout she won’t hear you at all.

“Is that Miyu-chan I hear?” Masa turns from where she’s setting the last dish on the table. Her grey hair is done in her usual up-do, a pretty pin with a tiny, folded paper camellia dangling from the top end holding it in place.

“It is indeed,” Miyu steps forward to embrace the woman, shorter with age.

“It’s good to have you home, dear,” she pats at Miyu’s cheek when she pulls away, “call Mother. Let us eat.”

.

Miyu falls into the routine of life in the Okiya with relative ease.

Kikyo, their maiko, is truly blossoming under Nanami’s tough tutelage.

Mother, a stern woman who had only entrusted Miyu with her duties _after_ she beat Makishima, spends most of her time commissioning elaborate kimono for Nanami and Kikyo, or meeting contacts in the tea shop next door.

The books are always a place of intrigue to Miyu. Eyeing the sums that patrons pay, watching them through the slat in the wall between her office and the main hallway – she makes note of their clothes, their hair. How they walk and what they choose to make small talk on, if there’s any talk at all.

Slowly the details sift together, forming figures as full as she can make them.

Most visit their Okiya for the tea ceremonies that Nanami is famous for, but often a few will request for her to play the harp, or dance.

Nanami is always sure to be accompanied by Kikyo, or often Masa. She will _not_ have anyone insinuate that she has done anything more than her usual rituals, and men often cannot be trusted to remain truthful about their relations.

One thing that Nanami will not do, and has never done, is advertise her more private favours.

Miyu knows it is to hold onto what little freedom she has in choosing her patrons. Mother isn’t pleased that Nanami refuses to service those who request it unless she expressly _wants_ to, but not much can be done to force her.

Discretely, Miyu slips those particular inquiries to Nanami before Mother has the chance to read them.

The geisha never makes comment, and Miyu is fine with that. If it were up to her, she’d burn them the moment she read them.

The truth of it is this: Nanami is an artist. In every graceful movement, with every fold of her kimono or twist in her elaborate hairdo – years of training. The elegant sweep of her makeup, the precision to her tea ceremonies, even the sound of her laugh.

Everything about her is poised and practiced, but lacking in the stiff decorum that usually accompanies such things.

She creates – with her words, the bat of her eyelashes, a pretty poem.

Men have returned again and again, to catch a glimpse of the slight smile hidden behind her beautiful fan. Just the corner of her mouth, and just for a moment.

It’s enchanting to watch.

Her competition with Tomoe is concerning, only because of what Miyu has heard of the woman.

Tomoe does not perform beautiful ceremonies. She plays the harp, and recites poems, but she doesn’t _create_ , not in the way that Nanami does.

Where Nanami’s talents are as deep and beautiful as the ocean, Tomoe seems nothing more than a shallow stream.

So Miyu puts her head down, takes extra care in the wording of her responses to requests for Nanami’s time, and does her part in ensuring their Okiya’s reputation as the finest in the flower district.

.

The first letter comes two weeks after her arrival home.

She’s in the middle of reviewing the return on her investments in Rice country when the knock comes at her door.

“Miyu-chan, be cautious of walking beside any rivers or fountains today,” Masa informs her gravely.

Wondering if there’s been a report of a drowning and mentally re-routing her path to pick up a book of fabric samples for Mother, Miyu dares to ask _why_.

“There’s a raven in your window.” Masa says it as though it holds great gravity, her dark grey eyes solemn as she stares up at Miyu. 

In her decade at the Okiya, Miyu has become familiar with many of Masa’s superstitions.

Once, she made Miyu rinse her mouth out with sake when she caught her whistling in the halls.

“You’ll summon a demon with that foolish mouth, child!”

She has more patience for Masa’s stresses than Nanami, who often ignores any of the old woman’s efforts to reverse the results of their actions, and most definitely does not listen to any of their housekeeper’s ‘advice’.

Kikyo, on the other hand, is terrified of every wizened word that falls from Masa’s mouth.

Most notably, Miyu once returned to the Okiya to witness Kikyo panicking about the symbolism of a frog appearing on the foot of her bed.

What Miyu suspects had been a petty trick by Nanami turned into a week of Kikyo visiting the Fire temple to pray mercy for her life.

In any case, Miyu just nods to Masa and says, “I will take care to avoid water, then.”

 _Why_ water, the shogi master has no idea. She’s not inclined to ask, either.

When she makes it to her room, Chikako is perched on her windowsill, inspecting Popo-chan with a critical eye. There’s a small scroll attached to her leg.

“Two days,” says the bird without looking away from the tiny cactus.

“Hello, Chikako-san.”

“You said hours. I said a week,” the crow continues without acknowledging Miyu’s greeting. “It was more than _hours_.”

“A week constitutes seven days,” Miyu settles onto the stool set beside the window and raises a brow at the summon.

“And hours constitutes – well, hours. Within the same day, surely.”

Chikako turns her beady gaze onto Miyu.

“I do believe two days is closer to one day than it is to seven,” Miyu states placidly.

“Hm.”

The crow tilts its sleek head and watches her for a moment.

“You weren’t _right_ , though.”

“Neither were you,” Miyu retorts, “but to be fair, I’ll hand over some of the bounty I gathered. Tell me about the rumours as I unpack them for you?”

Chikako seems to think about it for a second before nodding.

“It was Shisui that started it, as I expected,” she begins while Miyu heads to her dresser and opens the jewellery box atop it.

“Good call,” she calls over her shoulder, “I suspected it would be the Aburame. I sometimes fancy them raging gossips behind all the stiff speech and standoffish behaviour.”

“They _are_ gossips, but this time it was our brat boasting of how proud he was of Itachi-sama for flirting with a beautiful woman.”

Miyu presses her lips together to hide her smile as she turns to face the window, hands cradling a small blank scroll and a pen, and a tiny wooden box.

“For you,” she says, opening the miniature treasure chest to show a pair of very pretty, very shiny silver hoop earrings.

“Hmm not bad,” Chikako observes, pecking at the fastenings curiously, “could do with a bit more sparkle but it’s acceptable for now.”

“That’s good to know,” Miyu takes her seat again as Chikako extends the scroll towards her, balancing on one leg expertly.

“Itachi-sama neither confirmed nor denied anything, which just made the rumour mill _explode._ ”

Miyu smiles to herself as she unravels the letter. It’s short, only a few lines – but it’s better than nothing.

“A betting pool was started with input from that smug Nara heir, on what you look like, what you do, whether you’re a single ambitious young lady looking to further her status or a fine lady married to a dispassionate noble.”

That makes Miyu laugh, and she wonders at the imaginations of the soldier ranks of Konoha.

“What’s the most outrageous thing they’re saying?” She tries not to sound too eager.

“That you’re already pregnant with the heir to the Uchiha clan, but must pass the child off as your husband’s legitimate heir to stop your evil brother-in-law from becoming head of the family.”

Miyu snorts, and then slaps a hand to her mouth, but Chikako hasn’t seemed to notice, or more likely - doesn’t care.

“There are a few who believe you to be hired by the Uchiha Council to seduce Itachi-sama. It’s no secret they’ve been hounding him to marry at every clan meeting since he turned sixteen.”

Chikako fluffs out her wings with a huff that sounds as close to a laugh as a crow can get.

“They believe you’ve been approved to marry into the clan and will be brought back to Konoha for the wedding and the birth.”

“Gods,” Miyu pulls the pin from her hair and sighs in relief as the heavy mass tumbles down her back. “And those closest to the truth?”

Chikako titters and goes back to inspecting the earrings.

“That depends on what the truth is, Mi-chan.”

To that, Miyu has no reply. If she’s honest, they’re forging a correspondence that may be beneficial to the both of them. Though she’s yet to figure out what the Uchiha heir could possibly gain from their pen-pal status as of yet.

She writes up her letter, making sure to ask after the brother he had so graciously shared the existence of that night beside the fire.

Politely, she inquires after his work, the team, and whether he’s beaten anyone in a game of shogi recently.

A sentence or two about the book balancing at the Okiya and the intrigue of managing Nanami’s clients, and she gives no more away about herself.

Briefly, she insinuates that it would be nice to see him in person again soon.

She signs it with –

_Sincerely,_

_Sugawara Miyu_

Chikako promises to keep an ear out for the best rumours, and Miyu vows to find something that sparkles a little more for their next meeting.

.

Miyu rubs at her eyes briefly, trying to alleviate their stinging. It’s late, and she’s been staring at the board before her for too long.

“Miyu-chan?”

Kikyo’s soft voice breaks into her small bubble. The teen stands at the door to the office, a small tray bearing tea and fruit in her hands.

“I thought you might be wearing yourself thin in here. You need to eat and drink,” she scolds lightly, doing a very good job of imitating Nanami’s inflection.

Miyu gives her a small smile and sits back from the desk, taking a moment to stretch.

“Thank you, Kikyo-chan,” she half-yawns. “Sorry, the annual Fire Festival is only a week away.”

“No need to apologise,” the maiko sets the tray on the desk and takes the seat opposite Miyu. “You know what Nanami gets like the week before her performances. It takes a lot of restraint not to burn her stupid harp.”

Miyu pours the tea, inhaling the soft scent of jasmine, perfectly brewed.

“We’re perfectionists,” she murmurs before bringing the rim of the cup to her lips.

“That you are,” Kikyo nods, and then tilts her chin to the board. “Care to tutor me a little, oh great one?”

“Sure,” Miyu hopes her relief doesn’t show in the slightly prolonged exhale that follows Kikyo’s request.

At the sight of the maiko’s slight giggle, she knows she’s been caught out.

“You’ll be fine, as usual.”

Miyu wants to believe Kikyo’s reassuring words. But she knows Makishima would not have been idle in the year since they faced each other last.

If she intends to face him at her best, she needs to keep training.

.

“What’s got your feathers all ruffled?” Chikako’s squawk startles Miyu enough to almost send her toppling from her stool.

“Tch. Civilian. Forgot, sorry.”

“No, no,” Miyu’s only slightly out of breath despite the fact her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. “I was just focusing, that’s all. Surprised me.”

“Figures,” Chikako cocks her head to the side. “Any reason you look like you haven’t slept in a week?”

“Before big games,” Miyu says, glancing back to her board, “I study during the day. Only, I can’t seem to turn my brain off at night. I keep going over plays until I feel like I’ve exhausted every likely outcome.”

“Hm.”

The crow cocks its head to the side, and Miyu gets the feeling that Chikako would be frowning if she could.

“Itachi-sama is worried about you. Your last two letters have given him cause for concern, apparently.”

Miyu’s lips quirk down slightly.

“He’s hoping to come watch your match if he manages to get his leave approved on time.”

She’s not quite prepared for the excitement that spikes in her chest.

“He applied for leave?” The hope in her voice is overwhelming. Her cheeks heat and she forces her gaze down to the board again.

Maybe Chikako won’t rat her out. Unlikely, the crow’s a terrible gossip and has spilled more about Itachi than his letters seem to convey. Though that might just be intentional, based on her smugness at every detail divulged.

“A few clan representatives will be present from Konoha,” Chikako sticks her leg out and lets Miyu untie the scroll. “Most notably the Nara, but I’m sure you were expecting that.”

“The Nara and the Aburame, yes,” she murmurs as she skims the small, neat writing that definitely should not be making her mood shift so easily.

“This year there may be a few more, just so you know.” Chikako cocks her beak towards the tiny treasure chest on the dresser. “Open that for me?”

Miyu does so absently, sparing a brief smile at Chikako’s crow of appreciation.

“Sapphires! You remembered – oh, the others will be _so_ jealous you have no idea-”

She lets the chatter fade into the background as her eyes rove over the letter before her again.

_Miyu-san,_

_As expected, the earrings caused stir. Though my little brother seems to attract trouble and controversy with no effort on his part anyway._

_I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve written that in the hopes you won’t interpret it as mere courtesy._

_The Fire Festival is only a few days away, and this year my clan are sending a few representatives. Unfortunately I won’t be a part of the delegation, but I wish you luck in your match regardless._

_Eat well, sleep well, and take breaks at least once every hour. My sources tell me Makishima has been ruthless in his matches of late, and has gone undefeated since you played him last. He has increased his meditation time and changed his openings, probably in an effort to throw you off balance. I doubt he will switch his mid and end game so dramatically, it’ll be too much of a risk against you._

_Makishima will be at his best, and I’m sure you will be at yours._

_My money’s on you, Miyu-san._

_U.I._

Chikako’s information directly clashes with Itachi’s words, unless he had written this letter before applying for leave.

“The clans,” Miyu says suddenly, interrupting Chikako’s continued chatter, “they’re sending representatives in an attempt to verify the rumours.

She meets the crow’s eyes, as the realisation comes to her.

“They’re gaining more accuracy.”

Chikako cackles and shakes her little head, “Two extremes they are. Some have almost pinned you, while others indulge in the wild fantasy of your forbidden romance with Itachi-sama.”

Sighing out through her nose, Miyu rubs at her brow and prays for patience.

“You’d better get that beauty sleep,” Chikako guffaws, “there’ll be more than one game to play at this year’s fire festival.”

.

Miyu bows to Makishima, emerging from the calm, safe space of the board to meet his eyes.

“You played well yet again, Miyu-san.”

His address is low, not quite loud enough for the spectators to hear – though she’s sure the ninja don’t miss it.

“As did you, Makishima-sama,” she offers a smile as they both get to their feet and bow to each other, and then once more to the audience above the applause.

“I believe I’m getting old,” he doesn’t smile, he’s too straight-faced for that, but she’s come up against him for years now. Long enough to read the good-natured humour in his dark blue eyes.

“Which way would you like your flattery?” She asks as they turn to exit the game hall together.

“Both,” he says, long grey hair swinging lightly in its high ponytail, the trademark for his samurai clan.

“Nonsense! You’re as youthful as the day we met, Makishima-sama.”

“Hm,” he just barely raises a brow.

“Or,” she allows him the slightest glimpse of a grin, “ _I believe I’m getting old._ ” She thinks her impression of his tone is rather impressive. The dry look he gives her only makes her want to laugh and communicates effectively that he perhaps doesn’t think it impressive at all.

“You must be,” she says in her own voice again, “it’s the only way I manage to beat you, after all.”

He really does crack a smile at that, so fleeting she almost thinks she imagined it.

“Well p-”

“Sugawara Miyu.”

If Makishima’s face had seemed stern before it completely shuts out all emotion at the sound of her name.

Miyu forces the reflexive stiffness from her shoulders and turns to face the Daimyo with a polite smile.

“Daimyo-sama,” she bows low, aware that Makishima is doing the same beside her. 

“Well played,” says the middle-aged man, his long brown hair hanging in a straight curtain framing his face.

“Makishima-sama honours me with his time,” Miyu is trying not to exude anything but calm, hyper aware of the dozens of eyes watching the interaction.

“It is… _uncommon_ ,” he lets the word roll over his tongue distastefully, “to see a woman gifted in the noble art of shogi.”

Clamping down on the urge to let her discomfort show, Miyu takes a deep, soothing breath. 

“Quite uncommon,” she agrees.

The man before her looks her up and down. It’s not inherently sexual, rather – the look of a highborn peering curiously at something on the underside of their shoe.

“So _you_ are the best then.” It’s not a question. The man steps forward, slightly too close. Miyu keeps herself steady by thinking of boards and pieces and the cup of tea waiting for her at the Okiya.

“I wouldn’t presume to-”

“Play me.”

It’s not a request.

She keeps her gaze on his chest, absently taking in the fine silk of his decorated robes.

“Daimyo-sama, I-”

“You would decline my invitation?” His tone hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s disturbingly even.

“Of course not,” she smiles once more, “it would be the highest of honours.”

“Good,” he leans in, dark eyes intense, and Miyu resists the violent urge to step back. “Tonight at eight. I look forward to facing you, Sugawara.”

And then he sweeps away.

Miyu waits until he’s left the hall to turn on her heel and resume walking to the main exit. Makishima is still beside her, slowing his gait to match hers.

They step outside, and before either can open their mouths to talk they’re ambushed by the liaison from Iron.

“We should leave,” he urges, keeping his voice low as he addresses the man to Miyu’s right.

“No,” Makishima leaves no room for argument. Then he looks to Miyu, his face set into a grim frown. “What will you do?” 

Miyu’s hands clench tight in the folds of her deep sleeves. She meets his eyes, for once letting her uncertainty show.

“I don’t know.”

The time between her game against Makishima and her upcoming match with the Daimyo shrinks at a worrying pace.

Miyu goes to the Okiya, grateful that Nanami and Kikyo are out entertaining for the festival. She doesn’t have time for their questions right now. 

She goes to her room, locks the door. Leans against it, and lets out a long sigh.

“ _Fuck._ ”

The Daimyo of Fire has always had an ego befitting of his strong economy and military. The current one is just as bad as his father, maybe worse.

The old Daimyo finally died last year – apparently a scratch from his wife’s cat had become infected and in his advanced age he was unrecoverable. The story itself is suspicious, but with the only suspect newly coronated, any leads served to be dead ends. Rather unsurprising.

This younger Daimyo, from what little Miyu has heard, is eager to prove himself, all the while determinedly trying to mask that eagerness.

And now, he wants to – what? Prove his shogi prowess before the nobles of his court, foreign delegates, and a fair portion of Konoha witnesses?

Unlikely.

To win or not to win?

There’s little doubt in her mind that she can beat him. The man probably learnt shogi as early as Makishima, but she’ll bet on him having none of the ex-champion’s finesse.

Whether she _should_ beat him is another matter entirely. The smart thing to do would be to concede the match, but he would likely take insult if he ‘defeats’ her so easily.

To let the game go on long enough for him to get bored is a risk she just might have to take. Will he be displeasured at the difficulty of playing her? Satisfied when he finally triumphs over her after his supposed hard-earned victory?

She groans and lets her head fall back. The dull thud it makes against the wood of her door is oddly satisfying. She narrowly refrains from repeating the motion a few dozen times.

He’s too unknown. She doesn’t know exactly what he wants, and that makes him more dangerous than any professional player she’s come up against.

“Okay,” she pushes herself away from the door. “One step at a time.”

Miyu takes a short bath, hoping it will settle her nerves. It doesn’t.

She pulls out her most expensive kimono, a beautiful, soft lilac with curls of pale green vines around the hems. It’s nothing flashy, but the material is expensive and the cut of it is elegant and finely made.

It will be suitable for the presence of the Daimyo, at the very least.

Carefully, she remakes herself. She avoids makeup, hoping her face plain of decoration will dissuade any interest he might have in her.

She’s not quite sure if he has any interest in her to begin with, but she’s better safe than sorry.

Finally, she gathers her hair and artfully twirls it into a neat bun, secured with a thick hairpin. It had been gifted to her by Makishima when they faced each other last year at the championship in Iron. It’s a lovely thing, a shower of tiny glass snowflakes dangling from the decorative end.

With an hour to go until eight, she settles her stomach with some tea, forces down an apple, and starts on her way.

The busy streets serve as a sharp reminder that she is just like any of these people. Normal. No family or wealth, without great burdens. Without great power.

Right now, she wishes she had considered the few marriage proposals offered to her between her last game in Iron and now. The Daimyo wouldn’t care much for a merchant clan, or even nobleman. But he wouldn’t be stupid enough to create enemies this early into his reign.

She ascends the steps to the hall and realises something is not quite right when she notices the audience already seated. It’s barely seven-forty, they should be standing in small groups socialising.

Miyu calms her racing heart and steps into the room. Her eyes sweep the audience – the usual nobles, important merchants, and foreign delegates sit in the first few rows to either side of the aisle. Behind them she spots a few glints of metal featuring the emblem of Konoha.

The Daimyo is seated, facing the door. An early insult – it’s impossible that he doesn’t know that the higher ranked player must sit in the seat he now occupies.

She doesn’t let any of her dismay show on her face.

“You’re late,” he says without rising. He manages to look down on her despite being seated and at her hip level. Tch. Highborn. “I said seven thirty.”

Miyu doesn’t point out that she hadn’t asked, though she knows that their esteemed audience won’t have missed his blunder.

“I beg your forgiveness,” she bows deeply, “I must have misheard.

“Hm.” He nods to the place opposite him. “Sit.”

Is she a pet now? Is that what this is?

She makes no comment as she easily assumes seiza opposite him. The board that had welcomed her so comfortingly just a few hours earlier now seems as temperamental as a wild snake.

“Let us play.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head-canon: the previous Daimyo actually does die via an infected scratch inflicted by none other than Tora. No one in this fic believes it bc it looks suspish tho


	3. the eye of the beholder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short games, rude trees, and a puzzling poke. Miyu just wants this day to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! So the game happens and some other shit, i dunno its whatevah hahah
> 
> Bit shorter than the previous chapters but eh deal with it

Though she knows she must, Miyu is loathe to reach out and touch any of the pieces. At the impatient look of the man opposite her, she begins unpacking them. Thankfully this is a task she could perform in her sleep, and her nerves do not get the better of her.

“I didn’t know what to expect, at first,” he says conversationally. Definitely loud enough to be heard in a room where the light click of tiles meeting the board is the only frequent sound.

She stays quiet as she arranges her opening, keeping her eyes from his face.

“A _woman_ ,” he says the word slowly, as though waiting for a reaction, “one from Fire, at that, triumphing over anyone in her path.”

Miyu settles her hands atop her knees and waits for the Daimyo to make the first move. He does so with a careless shove of a pawn, and she wonders if he will approach this with any strategy at all.

“I must admit, I built you into this terrifying brute of a thing the moment I heard that you defeated the Iron champion.”

Miyu makes her opening move, silent in the face of the Daimyo’s all-important monologue.

“You can imagine my… surprise, when I saw you this afternoon. To find that the ugly, hulking lady I had been expecting is in fact, very young, and quite beautiful.” 

He makes his next move, and it’s not a terrible one. Maybe he _isn’t_ horrible, and this talking is just a tactic to derail her focus. She realises he’s paused, waiting for her to speak.

“You flatter me, Daimyo-sama. I resent my small stature. Perhaps if I had been large and intimidating, I might scare away my opponents without any thought at all.”

She makes her next move, neatly cornering his exposed knight.

Someone snorts in the audience – a ninja, probably, and out of the corner of her eye she sees a noble woman lift a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking.

He misses the insult beneath the light jest, his brow twitching as he shifts his knight out of the perceived line of fire.

“And then I thought – I _must_ play you. If I can beat the best shogi player in the nation, no enemy could ever hope to face me.”

Miyu keeps her gaze on the board. Surely he’s not so _stupid_ as to tell the entire room of his intentions. Because if it hadn’t been obvious before, then there’s no doubt about it now – she will lose here because she must.

They can’t even _play_ at this being a legitimate match.

Gods, he really is a buffoon.

She sees the board shift, pieces blurring before her eyes. Eight moves. She could end this farce easily. Remove herself from the situation.

Maybe that won’t be as painful as sitting through _this_.

She makes the first move of the eight, capturing a seemingly random pawn, and watches his face.

It twists briefly in displeasure, but he hurriedly attempts to reassume his line of defence. Exactly as she had expected.

“Why are you unmarried?”

Keeping her focus on the board rather than his stare, Miyu takes the next piece in her attack.

“I couldn’t possibly spare time for a husband and children, Daimyo-sama,” her tone is light and playful, “shogi is my life.”

“Hm,” he’s looking more and more displeased as he tries to figure out what to do on the board. The pin has just started, and his floundering is oddly satisfying.

He moves his knight seemingly at random. It won’t delay her at all.

She makes the third move of the sequence, and waits with her hands folded in her lap.

The Daimyo is staring at her intently. Then he pushes up and away from the table to stand. For a moment she lets herself hope that he had tired of their match.

And then he begins to circle the table, and she can’t tell whether he’s looking at the board or her. Miyu stares at the board and waits.

He stops out of her line of sight and she masks how much this unnerves her by scanning the front row attendants.

Makishima is front and centre on her left, giving the board an unreadable look. On either side of him sit other foreign delegates, and she realises with a sense of foreboding that they will all be reporting this back to their Daimyo.

“Pretty,” says the man behind her, and there’s a sudden tug on her hair.

She stiffens, but remains still as her hair tumbles free down her back. A lady gasps quietly, a small, muffled sound, and Miyu sees Makishima’s face pinch in displeasure.

The clatter of her hairpin on the table to her left almost startles her. She lets her eyes rest on the finely crafted trinket for just a moment before she looks up to meet Makishima’s eyes.

There’s an uncanny understanding between them, after playing each other for years. She must lose this. They both know it.

But his eyes are burning brightly in his stony face, and they are _screaming_ at her to win.

“I think myself a practical man,” the Daimyo sounds like he’s gloating. About what, she has no idea.

“Though I do love beautiful things. To find something both beautiful and functional? It’s simply art.”

He’s opposite her again, staring down at the board.

“Nothing compares to an artfully crafted shamisen. Or a perfectly balanced sword.”

She doesn’t know where he’s going with this spiel and she doesn’t really want to know. He’s continued walking again, so close to her now that his robes brush against the hem of her own.

“Knight to one D.”

It takes her a moment to realise he’s dictating his move to her. She converts her twitch into a reach for the piece, and neatly takes one of her own pawns for his keeping. 

He leans down then, and uses a sweet-scented hand to shift her hair from her shoulder. His too-soft fingers skim along her jaw, leaving a burning trail as he strokes down the side of her neck.

It takes clenching her hands into the fabric of her sleeves to stop from shoving away from him. Surely he can feel her heart beat as it quickens in fury.

Because he has taken her hair down in the middle of his court. He is touching her without her permission, smug and stupid and -

“But sometimes,” his fingers are at the edge of her kimono now, lingering at her collar bone, “that which is beautiful isn’t meant to be anything more.”

She can’t stop the involuntary clench of her jaw, but it is the only reaction she has to his insult.

“Wise words,” she says evenly, “though you’ve brought another thing to my attention.”

“Hm?” He finally pulls away from her but her back stays ramrod straight, hyper focused on his figure in her peripherals despite her gaze on the board.

“You talk of beautiful, useful things. And things that are just beautiful.”

He resumes his seat opposite her and she raises her eyes to meet his.

“It’s a shame that some things are neither.”

She watches his thin lips pinch together, and a deep pang of satisfaction strikes low in her gut. Unrelenting, she makes another move to lock him in. It’s clear to anyone that understands shogi that this game is _hers_. The Daimyo is being shepherded as easily as livestock.

“I’m thirsty.” He announces, voice level, but his eyes do not leave her face. He looks annoyed now.

She doesn’t have it in her to feel regret.

But she does know that the game will have to end soon. Alas, her pieces will be ready, and he will have no choice but to execute the moves she is forcing him to make.

An attendant brings a tray laden with tea. The Daimyo keeps looking at her even as a cup is set before each of them and the attendant moves to fill them.

The scent of oolong drifts from the pot as the Daimyo’s cup is filled.

The attendant begins to pour hers and – she sees it happen with extreme clarity.

The Daimyo lazily reaches out, knocking his cup onto the feet of his attendant. At the feel of the hot water and breaking ceramic, the poor man jerks away involuntarily.

The tea which had been pouring from the pot into her cup diverts directly onto her with a messy jerk. It misses her neck only by centimetres as she shifts back, but the scalding water spills down the front right side of her kimono and onto her lap.

It burns only briefly, the thick, quality layers of her kimono protecting her from the brunt of it. The attendant splutters his apologies, hands trembling as he tries to help, but the rest of the room is disturbingly quiet.

Everyone is frozen, aware that this is exactly what the Daimyo intended.

“It’s alright,” Miyu soothes the attendant, “it’s not a worry.” 

Her hair is half wet and her expensive kimono is soaked. The skin on her upper thighs and along the side of her torso stings, but it’s nothing major.

“Please,” she brushes the attendant away softly, “it’s not worth the trouble-”

The stillness is broken when, with a sharp movement, Makishima stands. His delegation stands a moment after him, some visibly confused.

Without any form of acknowledgment to the Daimyo, the shogi player turns and leaves the hall. Miyu presses her lips together, trying to shove down her dismay at the sudden loss of his support. Worry churns in her gut as she watches the displeasure on the Daimyo’s face.

It’s easy enough to play her next few moves. Methodologically, she shepherds the man opposite her into taking her king.

Anyone who looks at the board will see that the only way the Daimyo won is because she _let_ him. 

“Well that was rather easier than expected,” he gloats, pushing to his feet. “I thought you’d be more of a difficult opponent.”

Miyu stands gracefully, tense with the effort it’s taking not to shake in anger.

“I would never presume to be a threat to one as noble as you, Daimyo-sama.” 

She can feel eyes on her and has to forcefully push down the embarrassment of the moment. Miyu takes extra care in ensuring her chin stays level and strong.

“It must have been difficult to face your Daimyo. I’m quite dangerous when it comes to strategy, evidently.”

His eyes meet hers and she gives him a polite smile so false it makes her teeth ache, and says in a perfectly dry tone -

“It was a true challenge.”

She definitely hears a snort, and from the corner of her eye she sees someone with a spiky ponytail get elbowed. A Nara, then.

“Thank you for the _honour_ ,” she bows low to the Daimyo, and then to the audience, and takes her leave.

She walks through the bustling streets, past the Okiya. For a long time she walks, hands curled into fists and trembling with the force raging inside her.

Somehow she tamps down the urge to scream and simply not stop. She makes it out the main gate, storms into the trees that make up the forests of Fire.

When she’s far in enough she stops, panting. Her eyes are hot and stinging and she smells like tea and she’s never been so frustrated in her life.

With a yell she turns and punches a tree trunk with all her strength because she _can_. Pain explodes across her knuckles, rattling up her arm and reaching her shoulder, sharp and aching.

“ _Fuck!”_

Blood drips from her torn knuckles and for a moment she hops around, cursing and blinking away tears.

When she staggers to a stop, she stares at the back of her hand in fascination. It hurts. It makes her want to do it again.

She approaches the tree again, eyeing the unblemished bark for just a moment.

And then she sets her feet and rears her arm back again –

“You really will break it if you keep doing that.”

Her head snaps to the side so fast that her hair whips her in the face.

Itachi is standing at her side, fingers gently holding her wrist.

“Itachi-sama,” her voice cracks and she winces as his eyes dart from her bleeding hand to her face.

“I caught half of the game,” he says in a level tone, pulling her hand closer to peer at it.

She swallows, embarrassment churning in her gut.

“Do you want him dead?”

The question comes candidly as he tilts her hand this way and that. Surely he can feel the harsh thrum of her pulse in her veins, but he doesn’t look up.

“I – I could never-”

“Do you?” He asks again, his free hand reaching up to brush her hair off her face. Thin strands tickle at her skin from where they’ve stuck to the tear tracks on her cheeks. His palm rests lightly against the curve of her jaw as he waits.

She searches his face as he raises his eyes to meet hers.

Unwavering. Miyu feels it in her gut, in her bones, in the words that ache to get past her lips that he is _serious_.

He’s a ninja. Logically she knows he could be lying and she’d never know.

But there’s an openness to his dark eyes that makes her feel as though he would make it happen if she asked.

Part of her wants it.

The other part of her, making up the majority, knows that it would cause more trouble than it’s worth, and get Itachi into a mess if he was ever found out.

So she takes a steadying breath and murmurs, “No.”

His thumb smooths across her cheek and she leans into his touch, lip trembling as the frustration of the day sweeps over her.

“I’m sorry,” her voice is shaky and wet, accentuated by a tiny hiccup that escapes her attempt at control.

“Don’t apologise,” his voice is barely above a whisper, and she realises that he’s taken a step closer. They’re so close now, one of his hands still circling her wrist to keep it still.

His face blurs as tears swim in her vision, and another hiccup escapes her.

“I’m so-”

Her breath hitches and she can feel her face crumpling, but she pushes on.

“- _angry.”_

One tug on her wrist and she falls into his front, knees weak and chest too-tight.

“Me too,” she can feel his lips moving at her temple. “It was obvious that you conceded the game. But you won the battle. You know that.”

That sends a fresh wave of tears to her stinging eyes.

“I didn’t win anything,” her voice is thick and shaky, “I’m such a _fool-_ ”

He pulls away from her, just far enough to capture her chin between his fingers and lift her gaze to meet his.

“Every single delegate in there will report nothing on the game, Miyu.” The sound of her name unhindered on his lips has her breath catching for an entirely different reason.

“The only reports to leave that hall will be detailing your thorough dress down of a man foolish enough to believe he could corner you and emerge unscathed.”

She chokes out a laugh at that and it’s bitter and wet.

“They will see a woman who does not belong, tossing meaningless barbs at a man who could see her dead in a heartbeat if he wished.”

There’s her anger again, burning in her chest and heating her very blood.

“I’m a fool,” she repeats, “I should have kept my mouth shut and my head down. He wanted a pretty little idiot and I gave him-”

She cuts herself off and lets her head fall forward until her forehead is resting against Itachi’s chest.

“You gave him his own ass on a silver platter,” it’s so _odd_ to hear Itachi swearing in his smooth voice.

It’s enough to startle a laugh out of her, and this one makes her feel lighter, lets her lean into his hold a little further.

“He doesn’t yet understand many of your... jabs.”

“His advisors won’t have missed them,” she sighs, “nor will his court. It was one of his first appearances to foreign delegates. Gods, I’m an _idiot_.”

“Tch,” he manoeuvres her hand into view, “ _this_ is the only idiotic thing you’ve done today.”

She winces at the twinge that his gentle hold sends down her arm.

“We should get this looked at.”

Miyu moves her fingers experimentally, rolling her wrist slowly before trying to make a fist again. Pain shoots up her arm and she flinches hard. Her pained gasp has barely left her lips when her feet are suddenly no longer supporting her in a sudden blur.

It takes her a moment to process that she’s now in Itachi’s arms, and that they’re moving very, very fast.

“Itachi!” She gasps, scrambling to get a hold on him somehow. Her good hand curls into the fabric of his shirt and she holds on for dear life, even though she knows he won’t drop her. 

“Sorry,” his low laugh isn’t even breathless, though they’re moving fast enough that her eyes are watering from the wind.

They come to a sudden stop before an apartment block, and even though Itachi has done all the running, Miyu is panting.

“Gods,” her voice is higher than usual, “you always travel like that? Waterfall must have felt like a snail’s pace.”

He sets her on her feet, and suddenly a man is standing in the space to her left.

She flinches back, only barely catching her gasp before it can make it out of her throat. Itachi’s hand on her back settles her.

“Asuma-san,” Itachi greets politely as though Miyu hadn’t almost jumped out of her skin.

The man’s forehead protector glints in the moonlight as his eyes flicker from Itachi to her.

She straightens up, bows in greeting, and offers a polite smile. Her hand and wrist are smarting now, a constant ache that dulls the sting of her bleeding, scraped knuckles.

When she rises from her bow the two men are staring at one another, a silent conversation passing between them that she can’t hope to decipher.

“Do you have a medic handy?” Itachi asks dryly, “Miyu-san got into a fistfight with a tree.”

The man’s brows shoot up, and the corner of his mouth quirks just slightly as his eyes settle on her once more.

“It was a rude tree,” she explains dryly, shooting Itachi a betrayed look.

“Must’ve had it coming, then,” Asuma grunts, and Miyu lets herself smile a little more genuinely.

“Nao should be back with our takeout any minute.”

And then they’re following the ninja into the apartment complex. They walk up four flights of stairs before they enter an apartment. It’s… sparse. There’s a few lounges, a small dining table. The walls are bare, painted an off white that goes rather nicely with the dark wooden floorboards.

“We’ll disinfect this while we wait,” Asuma says, gesturing to the table.

Miyu sits, letting her arm rest on the table. While the other man opens a cupboard under the sink Itachi gently pushes her long, heavy sleeve up her arm. Her hand is red and swelling, the beginnings of bruises darkening her bloody knuckles.

“Your form wasn’t terrible.” Itachi comments lightly, and it takes her a moment to realise he’s talking about her punch.

“Oh,” she huffs out a laugh, “when I was younger my... neighbour," her mouth doesn't want that word to come out, but she forces it anyway, "wanted to be a ninja. He made me learn how to punch so he could learn how to evade.”

Itachi hums at that, and steps aside to let Asuma sit opposite her. She eyes the neat line of his beard and wonders what he does here in the capital.

He cleans the scrapes quickly and efficiently. The stinging isn’t so bad, and she hadn’t punched hard enough to get any splinters caught in her skin, so it’s over fairly quickly. As he stands to throw away the bloodied wipes the front door opens, and a woman enters.

Her blonde hair is cropped close to her head, leaf insignia hanging from a bandanna around her neck. Brown eyes scan the room tiredly and Miyu feels terrible for asking anything of this ninja who has obviously just finished a long shift.

“Yo, Nao,” Asuma’s gruff voice reminds Miyu of her manners, “guests.”

“Hello, Riko-san,” Itachi greets politely. “This is Miyu.”

Taking her cue, Miyu stands and bows to the woman.

“Good evening, Riko-san. I apologise for the intrusion at this late hour.”

The woman sets the plastic bags that she’s carrying onto the kitchen benchtop as she surveys the two of them with weary eyes.

“Not a worry,” she says after a moment, gesturing for Miyu to take her seat once more. “Let’s have a look then.”

It turns out to be a fracture as Itachi suspected. Miyu’s only a little bit proud that she was able to punch that hard in the first place. She watches in fascination as the woman’s hand’s glow with soft green light. Silent, Miyu feels warmth tickle it’s way into her hand, seeping into her skin and deeper. Her hand goes numb for a few minutes, and the green glow gradually fades.

When the Riko removes her hands, Miyu’s own is pale and unblemished.

“Amazing,” she breathes, lifting it from the table to inspect it. She wiggles her fingers, clenches her hand into a fist, and shakes it out. It feels completely fine.

The woman is looking at her with a tired smile, like a parent watching their child marvel over something simple. Miyu blushes under her gaze.

“Thank you, Riko-san.” She bows again, “I am in your debt.”

“Don’t be silly,” the woman waves her off. “It was nothing. Besides, you had a hard-enough day already.”

At that Miyu sobers. Riko, at least, must have been present at the game – or heard about it, possibly. Chikako is right, Ninja are terrible gossips. They claim it’s ‘intel sharing’, but they fool _no_ one.

“Really handed that prick his ass tonight,” Asuma says, leaning against the doorway with an unlit cigarette between his lips, “you’re wasted here.”

Miyu cracks a smile, but it feels hollow.

She and Itachi take their leave and make for the flower district.

His hand brushes against the back of hers as they walk in companionable silence.

As they near the Okiya, he catches her fingers in his and pulls her to a stop. She blinks up at him, waiting. In the dim glow of the lanterns of the flower district, his face is highlighted by soft shadows that make him appear almost otherworldly.

Something cold and thin is pressed into her palm, and when she looks down – her hairpin. Makishima’s gift, whole and blameless in the events of the day, glinting in her upturned palm.

“Thank you.” Miyu’s voice is thick with emotion. Itachi’s dark eyes are unreadable, but he doesn’t stop her as she closes her fingers around the pin and continues the little ways left to reach the Okiya.

“I can’t stay,” he murmurs at the front door, hand reaching up to brush her hair over her shoulder.

“Not even for a little while?” she asks, knowing that it may be fruitless.

“I’m sorry,” Itachi’s calloused hand cups her cheek again, and she refuses to let her lip tremble.

“When will I see you again?” she hates that she sounds small, hopeful. But his posture softens, and the corners of his mouth tilt up just slightly.

“Soon,” he says, and then his hand shifts from her cheek and he – pokes her? Right in the centre of her forehead.

“Take care, Miyu-san.”

A blink, and he’s gone.

She stands there, forehead tingling in the aftermath of his touch. Her own hand lifts to press against it, and she wonders at the gesture.

“Ninja,” the sigh leaves her feeling rather amused, and with the day she’s had? Amused is more than she could have dreamt of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miyu done did it now. Big fuck you to the Daimyo which mightn't have been the best decision even with her ninja cheersquad


	4. a ninja's interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itachi makes it to the hall late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is just a little interlude because a reader wanted to witness Miyu's silent shinobi support! Can they communicate via chakra alone in the main series??? no. Is this a fanfic, and did I make up chakra signing because I could???? yes. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

Itachi steps into the hall just as the first piece contacts the shogi board. He casts his eyes around and locates the Konoha delegates easily. He pointedly avoids the Uchiha component, instead sidling up to the wall behind the seats to stand beside the masked shinobi guard.

Beneath the traditional attire he can sense Asuma’s annoyed chakra. It sets Itachi on edge.

“What’s going on?” He murmurs, too low for anyone but Asuma to hear.

“New Daimyo’s trying to make a splash with our esteemed foreign guests,” his voice is clipped, and Itachi lets his eyes finally land on Miyu, who is sitting beautifully composed before the Daimyo.

“I didn’t realise this game was scheduled,” Itachi _knows_ Miyu didn’t mention it in any of their correspondence, or even to Chikako.

“It wasn’t,” he can hear the scowl in Asuma’s tone as the Daimyo talks.

“Ah,” trying to hide how suddenly nervous he is, Itachi shifts to get a better view of the board.

“…find that the ugly, hulking lady I had been expecting is in fact, very young, and quite beautiful.”

Itachi narrows his eyes as the Daimyo makes another careless move, and then sits back and focuses his muddy brown eyes on Miyu’s face.

“You flatter me, Damiyo-sama,” hearing her voice again sends a jolt to his stomach, and he wants so intently to snatch her away from this farce as soon as possible. “I resent my small stature. Perhaps if I had been large and intimidating, I might scare away my opponents without any thought at all.”

A snort sounds from the Konoha seated section and Itachi’s eyes find Nara Ensui’s back. A few nobles struggle to contain their reflexive laughter or outrage. Another masked ninja joins them and Itachi nods in greeting as the Daimyo continues talking, having missed the jab entirely.

Someone’s chakra flares in Konoha-sign, and Itachi makes out the word ‘ _imbecile_ ’.

Someone else replies with ‘ _hahaha’_. Which is closely followed by ‘ _I love this lady she’s giving me bad bitch vibes._ ’

That’s probably someone from the Inuzuka delegation.

As the Daimyo continues to blather, Itachi watches Miyu’s carefully polite face. She holds herself in a way that highlights her softness. The lines of her body, graceful and unassuming. But her eyes – even from here, he can see them – are steely and unyielding.

He watches as she makes a move that so blatantly removes the Daimyo’s available options it makes Asuma chuckle quietly, even as the head of their country asks why Miyu is unmarried.

‘ _I bet she’s into women_ ’ someone signs.

‘ _Or she crushes the souls of any men who approach her’_ signs another.

“What are you doing here anyway? Didn’t see you come in with the Uchiha representatives.”

Itachi knows Asuma is watching him even through the mask.

“I was passing through,” he lies easily, because there’s no way he’s going to reveal that he just managed to get his leave approved in time.

“Ah,” Asuma hums, sounding unconvinced, “so all this talk of the esteemed Uchiha clan heir and his shogi mistress is untrue, then?”

Itachi shrugs, eyes trained on the next move in Miyu’s sequence.

_‘It will be over in ten moves’_ someone signs as the Daimyo suddenly pushes up from the table to stand. Itachi stares hard at the man, watching as he begins to circle Miyu like prey. It’s a lot like watching a little bird hop around a silent, still cat.

He watches Miyu’s eyes dart to the crowd and wishes he had arrived sooner to get a front row seat. Instead her eyes lock onto a man attending front and centre – one that his brief sweep for intel prior to the festival tells him is Makishima.

They stare silently for a few moments as the Daimyo’s hand reaches out slowly to brush against the pretty glass shower of snowflakes attached to Miyu’s hairpin.

“Pretty,” he hums in appreciation, and then plucks it from her hair with a sharp tug.

Itachi tenses so sharply at least three ninja turn to look, and Asuma goes still beside him, waiting. He has to consciously unwind as the Daimyo tosses the hairpin to the table and resumes his slow circling of the board.

Miyu is sitting with her back straight and her shoulders artfully relaxed. He admires her then, her unwavering calm in the face of this man who would try to shame her before the court and their guests. He’s talking again, and Itachi listens with half an ear as Konoha ninja start signing again.

‘ _5000ryo on her ending it in under 10 moves’_

_‘10000ryo for six more moves’_

_‘25000ryo on five more’_

Itachi’s eyes zone in on the back of Nara Ensui’s spiked ponytail once more, and he knows he’d be matching the man’s bet in almost any scenario.

“Knight to one D.”

The other masked guard beside Asuma hums in interest as they watch Miyu neatly reach for the aforementioned piece without complaint. Itachi takes a deep, slow breath as the Daimyo continues his prowling until he’s standing behind Miyu. The man leans down, shifting her hair over her shoulder, touching along her jaw, trailing down her neck and across her collar bone.

Through it all she stays very, very still, as though she’s barely breathing. Her face is stony and shut off, and it takes Asuma’s hand on his shoulder to stop the involuntary step forward to get closer to her, to reach her –

“-sometimes,” the Daimyo’s fingers almost creep beneath the collar of her kimono and the other guard moves to almost block his view of the scene, “that which is beautiful isn’t meant to be anything more.”

He wants to see her face, watch how she handles this – almost as much as he wants to shove the Daimyo through the wall of the building. But his eyes are straining now, to see the minute details of her face from this distance, and he knows he can’t activate his bloodline limit here and now.

_‘What a prick_ ’ signs someone from the front row.

‘ _Fuck him. He’s definitely compensating, I fucked one of his courtesans before this game and they told me his cock is small.’_

Someone further back in the seats almost chokes at that and Itachi watches as Ensui’s shoulder’s tremble with laughter.

“…talk of beautiful, useful things,” Miyu’s tone shifts suddenly from light and conversational to cold and blunt, “it’s a shame that some things are neither.”

_‘OOOOOOH NO SHE DIDN’T’_

_‘Girl’s got fire!’_

_‘You tell him Miyu-hime!’_

_‘Bad bitches only! Bad bitches only!’_

_‘Miyu-chan! Miyu-chan! Miyu-chan!’_

Itachi is torn between enjoying this impromptu cheer squad or snatching Miyu and making a run for it. The Daimyo summons tea and he shrugs off Asuma’s hand, nodding in thanks to the other masked guard for making sure he didn’t partake in any foolish behaviour.

‘ _And she’s tightened the noose with that move_ ,’ Ensui’s commentary isn’t missed as the tea is brought out. Itachi is just starting to relax again when the Daimyo blatantly spills his steaming cup onto his attendant, who accidentally –

He doesn’t realise he’s activated his sharingan until half the Konoha delegation jerk to attention, suddenly sharp and focused. Asuma’s arm is the only thing barring him from lunging forward, and for just a moment the room is plunged into complete silence.

“I’m _so_ sorry, oh-”

“It’s alright,” Miyu’s voice is soft, calm despite the boiling tea that's just been spilled down her side. It makes Itachi stop trying to strain against Asuma’s unyielding hold. “It’s not a worry.”

‘ _It’s very MUCH a worry, you literal fucking angel’_

The very Inuzuka sign eases the tension on the ninja-front.

“Please,” Miyu’s hands are gentle as she brushes them off, “it’s not worth the trouble-”

With a sudden movement Makishima and the delegation from Iron stand and leave without paying their respects to the Daimyo. Itachi can just barely make out the slight downturn to Miyu’s lip for just half a second before she schools her face into polite calm once more.

‘ _Our Daimyo, ladies and gents_ ,’ comes a sarcastic, Nara-tinted comment.

‘ _I didn’t choose him_ ,’ is the Inuzuka-esque reply.

‘ _Four more moves’_ Ensui seems certain.

And so Miyu shepherds the Daimyo to a ridiculous end.

“Well,” the Daimyo pushes to his feet, “that was rather easier than expected. I thought you’d be more of a difficult opponent.”

Miyu stands, and it’s graceful and unyielding.

“I would never presume to be a threat to one as noble as you, Daimyo-sama.”

_‘OOOOOOOOH’_

_‘She did that! She really did that!’_

_‘Oh my gods I love her.’_

“It must have been difficult to face your Daimyo,” the fool is gloating, “I’m quite dangerous when it comes to strategy, evidently.”

Miyu smiles and it’s cold and sharp and screams of _danger_.

‘ _She’s so hot I want to DIE.’_

Itachi agrees silently.

And then she opens her pretty mouth and says, “It was a true challenge.”

Ensui snorts loud enough to be heard by the rest of the hall, but he doesn’t seem to care even as he gets elbowed by his clansman.

‘ _Yes bitch you tell him!’_

_‘Miyuuuuuuuuu we love you!’_

' _Do you think she'd step on me if I asked nicely?'_

_‘Somebody call a medic this motherfucker just got BURNT-’_

Itachi rolls the tension out of his shoulders as he watches Miyu subtly do the same.

“Thank you for the _honour_.” And she bows low – first to the Daimyo, and then to the audience. She takes her leave in almost absolute silence. As the Daimyo turns to make his exit, the hall erupts in chatter. Itachi hears snippets of conversations between nobles, representatives of the shogi association, even foreign delegates.

But the conversation he dreads is walking right to him, spiky pony-tail and all.

“And I thought Shisui was exaggerating,” Ensui smirks, and Itachi takes in his slightly smudged eyeliner from where he’d laughed hard enough to shed a tear.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he deflects, very aware that Asuma is levelling him with an unimpressed stare despite the fact that he can’t see it.

“Passing through, were you?” asks the Sarutobi flatly.

“Oho?” Ensui looks like he’s having way too much fun, “You’re still denying this _forbidden_ romance, Itachi? Come on, if it wasn’t for Asuma you’d have started a national emergency with your killing intent.”

Itachi keeps his face blank as Asuma huffs out a laugh.

“That woman really is something,” Ensui smirks at him and Itachi stamps down the impulse to frown, “better make sure you’re worthy.”

Of course Ensui would go with something _cryptic_. Itachi doesn’t have the will to stay and figure out what he means – all he can think about is Miyu, out in the streets, her careful composure unravelling the same way it had beneath the stars by the fire.

“I’ve got a mission,” he lies, stepping away from the pair, “see you around.”

He takes just a moment to substitute a senbon with the hairpin on the main playing table.

And then he flash-steps his way out of there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes while the younger ninja are communicating by Konoha sign, some of the older members of the delegations are sitting there radiating disapproval (the Uchiha and Hyuuga among a few of the more prominently disapproving). They can understand all of it. Some are going to be reporting this 'misconduct' to the relevant authorities. Others? They're part of the silent Miyu cheer squad hahaha


	5. colours of autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miyu deals with the aftermath of the Fire Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's wednesday my dudes
> 
> enjoy!

Miyu’s first memories are sharp. More so than she imagines many three-year old’s to be.

She knows she had been three, because it was the last year her mother actually remembered her birthday. They sat at their old table, two skewers of dango between them.

“Three for each of us,” her mother had murmured, “to celebrate three years of your life.”

Miyu had watched her mother eat hers before she reached out for her own. Being around her father had taught her not to start eating until he was finished. Usually it was safe to take a bite if mother got through her first few without a fist to the face.

Even without father, the house feels… _heavy_.

She can remember the stickiness of her fingers and the grin that she had tried very hard to hide.

“That’s my girl,” her mother had said with a barely-there smile, “don’t show what you truly feel. It only helps those who wish to hurt you, my sweet. Keep it in.”

As she steps into the streets in the weeks following her match with the Daimyo, Miyu carries the memory with her like a shard of glass. Not tightly enough to cut, and with enough care to keep it intact. She keeps her head level and her face clear of any worries and uses her courtesies to keep those who would pry away.

The capital always has been a pit of vipers, and working at the Okiya had already made her target enough. The Daimyo’s spectacle at the Fire Festival gives Miyu more practice in evasive responses than she cares to admit.

Who knew common grocers would want to know if she really said _that_ , or if the Daimyo had done _this_. Rumours spread, and only seem to get wilder as time goes on.

Miyu, apparently, had tried to bewitch the Daimyo with a love potion right at the very game table, but his trusty attendant had realised and spilt it all over her instead!

The Daimyo’s mother had forbidden him from his one true love Miyu, and so he had staged the game as a chance to talk to her face to face just one last time.

The entire thing, a plot from Iron to destabilise the court – one that had been thwarted when Makishima’s love for Miyu caused him to storm out, giving away his role in Iron’s plan.

All of them, wrong.

Miyu isn’t short-sighted enough to dismiss them. Outwardly, of course, she denies making comment, but internally she keeps track of every single one.

She knows the Daimyo’s advisors will be keeping track just as closely.

“Hey sugar, you seem to be the talk of the town.” The woman’s sultry tones only make Miyu laugh.

“Good morning, Rin-chan.” She sets the bag from the bakery atop the stage to her left, and watches with a smile as the woman opposite her tears into it excitedly.

“ _Oh_ , you got me the custard buns, you absolute _angel_!”

Her blonde hair stays perfectly styled in structured waves as she dances happily to herself on the spot, inspecting the rest of the bag’s contents. Miyu waits patiently, surveying the rest of the club with observant eyes.

“You have a few new patrons, by the looks of it,” she comments as Rin hops up on to the stage to dig into a custard bun.

The upholstery on the booths has been redone, and the back bar has new deep pink lighting. Miyu wonders if the private rooms have been redecorated too.

“Hmm,” Rin finishes her mouthful and says, “about four frequent big-shots, but we’ve been busier than usual lately.”

Miyu hums, leaning against the stage as she yawns. It’s almost midday, and the club is empty aside from the two of them.

“Any new dancers?” she asks lightly, slanting a look to Rin out of the corner of her eye.

The woman pauses, and Miyu looks towards the poles on her left to distract herself.

“Three, actually,” she sounds like she’s smirking. “Let’s stop pretending that you’re not fishing for information on Satsuki.”

Miyu presses her lips together. She’d not forgotten that Rin has an uncanny ability to read people, and that her talent makes her a very competent manager. It’s just been a while since she was subject to it.

“How is she?” She decides to ask because she’s already been caught out.

Rin huffs out a laugh and shakes her head.

“As okay as she can be.”

Miyu looks up at the blonde, head tilted.

“She broke her own heart and was too prideful to resolve the… situation.” She very intentionally doesn’t mention the situation in detail. “But you know Satsuki. She’s been throwing herself into work more than ever. The four high-rollers in just a year, and all of them here for her.”

Miyu nods and wonders at the fact that talking about it doesn’t _hurt_ anymore.

“Good for her,” she says, and she means it.

Rin looks down at her speculatively.

“So are you going to tell me their name?” she prompts with a raised brow.

Miyu only smiles.

“Oh, come on Mi-chan,” Rin rummages around in the bag a little, “will you at least tell me it’s not someone working in the flower districts? I don’t want to guard Satsuki from any gossip, you know how she gets when she mopes-”

“He’s not from the flower district,” Miyu says softly, and Rin’s mouth snaps shut. “He’s not even from the capital.”

Rin looks like she’s about to ask something, and then stops herself as she thinks better of it.

“Okay, fine. Keep your secrets, but... on a serious note.” She sets the bag aside, additional bun forgotten as her green eyes meet Miyu’s.

“My girls have been hearing talk, love. None of it good.”

Miyu sighs, and runs a hand along her yukata, smoothing it out.

“I know, Rin. I’m hoping it’ll blow over by September-”

“Miyu.”

Rin’s hand lands atop hers on the stage.

“This man of yours? I hope you’re sure about him. I hope he’s someone important. The capital isn’t a place you should be any longer.”

Miyu stills. _Shit_.

“What’ve they heard?”

Rin spares a glance around, even though the bar is empty.

“A new frequent. Honda-sama, thirty-four. He’s an official advisor to the Daimyo.”

Miyu’s stomach _drops_.

“A diplomatic meeting with the Daimyo of Tea went south. They’re looking for someone to blame.”

Oh, _no_.

“Yoshio-chan was talking to her friend that works in one of the lower whorehouses – she said one of her clients is a guard, and he overheard them discussing the woman everyone’s been talking about.”

That woman obviously being _Miyu_ – oh, gods – she presses her lips together tightly.

“He said that he heard them voting on how much of a threat she posed.”

Miyu closes her eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.

“The guard couldn’t hear the result, but Mi-chan – _please_ , go. If you can leave, you need to do it now.”

When she looks up again, Rin’s pale green eyes are grave.

“It’s only been a few weeks, Rin.” Miyu pushes away from the stage and straightens her yukata. “This talk will pass.” _It must pass._

Rin says nothing more. Only watches with a stony face as Miyu composes herself, and then leaves the club for the streets of the flower district.

.

It’s on her desk when she returns from visiting Rin.

She stares at the official seal for several long moments before she sits stiffly in the seat and opens it with unsteady hands.

An invitation. To _tea_.

She suddenly feels so violently nauseous that she has to shut her eyes and sit back. A few long minutes pass, and when she dares to open her eyes it’s still sitting on her desk.

Her mind races as she tries to figure out an excuse to not go. But it’s an invitation from the ladies of the Daimyo’s court, what reason could she _possibly_ have –

The shogi board on the corner of her desk is clear and clean. Of course it is, she used it this morning. There hasn’t even been time for dust to settle.

She picks up her pen and writes, hoping that Chikako will be able to get her message where it needs to go with only the stack of presents Miyu has stashed away.

.

“I’m not a postal service, y’know?” Chikako grumbles as she sticks out a leg for Miyu to untie the scroll.

“I know, Chikako-san,” Miyu assures her as she hurriedly tears it open. “I’m sorry that I made you feel that way. It was urgent.”

The scroll unravels, and Miyu almost wilts with relief.

“If you spoke to me I may be able to help, Mi-chan.” Chikako has fixed her beady eyes onto Miyu, and her unblinking stare isn’t forgiving. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been even more jumpy than usual lately.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Miyu says as she makes for the little package on the dresser, “but this is my apology to you. And my thanks.”

“Don’t think you can distract me so easily- _ooh, glitter!_ ”

She respectfully declines the invite to tea the next day, and leaves the day after that in a carriage with the curtains drawn shut.

.

Miyu takes her seat opposite Makishima with a smile that isn’t forced.

“It’s good to see you,” she glances around at the beautiful gardens they’re seated in. The servants have led her to an artful pavilion where Makishima had been waiting. “Your home is beautiful.”

“It is an honour to play the Meijin.”

Miyu stills at that, smile slowly dropping from her face. Meijin is the official title of the highest ranked shogi player in the nation. It’s typically earnt upon defeating the current Meijin, which Makishima had been until Miyu defeated him four years ago.

Truthfully, she should have been named Meijin in the aftermath of her first victory. Only, the invite to the induction ceremony never came. Even when Makishima went through the resignation ceremony, no title had been extended to her by the shogi association.

It’s an insult Miyu has learnt to live with.

They’ve never spoken of it, Miyu and Makishima.

But here, _now_ , when she’s shaken and paranoid and not thinking of titles or insults or championships, he calls her _Meijin_.

She meets his dark blue gaze, and understands.

Respect. He’s giving her _respect_.

Her throat suddenly feels desperately tight.

She blinks away the stinging in her eyes and swallows before responding.

“Come now, Makishima-sama, we both know I’m not the Meijin.”

His stony face doesn’t waver.

“You should be,” his tone is firm, “four times over. I have made my displeasure known with the association. Their blatant disrespect won’t be tolerated any longer.”

“Makishima-sama, please, you don’t have to-”

“They show you no respect,” his voice is raised, and for his usual reserved nature he’s practically _shouting_ , “so your Daimyo shows you no respect.” He spits the title like it’s poison in his mouth.

“Title or not, he would have tried to walk all over me anyway,” she placates, shifting her gaze to the empty board between them. “I’m used to it, really.”

Makishima inhales deeply through his nose, jaw clenching.

“You _shouldn’t_ be.”

She can’t quite tell if he’s angry at her, or the Daimyo, or anyone who has done anything that contributed to the shit show at the Fire Festival.

“I’m a woman,” she smiles wryly, “with no family name, no wealth. No husband, and no title.”

It’s explanation enough.

“You are the highest ranked shogi player in our known world,” he counters, unflinching. “You are the Meijin, and that must be acknowledged.”

Oh. _Oh_.

The title. The flimsy title that she’d written off as inconsequential. He thinks it could give her enough clout to be left alone. She desperately hopes he’s right.

“Thank you,” she says, meeting his eyes once more. “For treating me like an equal both in and out of the game.”

“Tch,” he gives his head the barest of shakes, “that’s not something to thank me for.”

Miyu hums in consideration, and as she reaches for the bag to unpack the tiles, Makishima’s hand reaches out and closes over hers.

“I have heard some troubling news of late.”

She stiffens, wondering if he’s got ears in the Fire Capital too, and hoping that her decision to flee to his estate has not been viewed as a weakness.

“A boy, blazing through the rankings.” He lets her go and she places the bag back in its place.

She’s not been caught out. _Thankfully_.

“Blazing?” she questions, raising a brow.

“He’s won every single tournament since he began playing competitively in February,” Makishima’s mouth quirks down the slightest, “it was my intention to bring this information to you after our last game.”

Miyu takes a sip from her glass of water to avoid thinking about that day too hard.

“So he’s a prodigy?” she asks.

Makishima’s brow furrows slightly.

“He beat Yamada in thirty minutes.”

Miyu pauses in setting her glass down at that.

“Thirty minutes?” she repeats, because _what_? Yamada Toshinori had been Meijin before Makishima. He’s in his fifties, but still a formidable opponent. Facing him makes Miyu almost as nervous as facing Makishima.

 _Thirty_ minutes?

“How old is he?” she asks, suddenly feeling queasy.

“Sixteen,” Makishima looks discomfited. “He’s from Lightening.”

“Ah.” She presses her lips together and takes a deep breath. “He will be at this year’s national tournament, then?”

Makishima nods, and Miyu wonders whether they’ll be able to face each other again at the tournament, or whether this kid will get the better of one them before they get the chance.

“The association is concerned,” resumes the man opposite her rather stiffly, “the ease with which he defeats his opponents without ever having competed before has been… suspicious.”

Miyu lets herself focus on the ripples of the lake that spans a large portion of the garden.

“They think it’s a bloodline limit,” she murmurs, “and they can’t confirm it, I assume.”

She turns her gaze to him once more.

“And what do you think?”

The skin around his eyes tighten in a way that tells her he’s suspicious. The slight shrug he gives is answer enough.

Without seeing more, he can’t say.

Miyu reaches for the bag, and unpacks the tiles in silence.

They play, they have tea, and when the sky darkens they retreat indoors for dinner. Miyu meets Makishima’s wife and children. She stays the night, and prepares to leave for home the next morning.

“The next time we meet, you will be recognised as the Meijin,” says Makishima at the gates of his estate. Though she knows he comes from a long line of wealth, she wonders how much the association allocates to him each month.

Her income is more than she ever thought she’d make playing shogi, and she’s made multiple investments that will ensure she’s comfortable for the rest of her life, but it must pale in comparison to what Meijin traditionally receive in stipends.

“I look forward to it,” she says with a polite smile, and he offers her the barest hint of one in return.

“Until next time.”

.

“Ah, you’re back.”

Mother leans in the doorway with her pipe between her lips. Her dark hair is streaked with grey, and her pale features are beginning to show her age more each day. She’s still dressed impeccably, but then again, she’d rather be caught dead than be accused of having a dreary wardrobe.

“Mother,” Miyu greets tiredly, unpacking the last of her things, “I apologise for leaving on such short notice.”

The slender woman only gives her an assessing once-over.

“Nanami has received a few new offers from potential patrons. It’s good to see your work paying off.”

Miyu spares her a smile. “Nanami’s work,” she corrects, shutting her drawer.

“Please,” Mother levels her with an unimpressed stare, “the correspondence is more than half the work. And the negotiations take much more skill than the arts that our Nanami is so devoted to.”

Miyu gives Popo-chan an affectionate sprinkle of water from her drinking glass.

“You keep talking like this,” she sighs, “it’s giving Nanami inferiority issues. You know I’m not going to take over, all this flattery is futile.”

Mother smirks and shrugs.

“Eh. It’s worth the try. You better not leave the Okiya defenceless when I’m too senile to run it, brat.”

Miyu grins back, “Of course not, Mother.”

The woman turns to leave, and then pauses.

“Oh. I almost forgot. We’ve noticed someone lingering around the Okiya over the past few days.”

Miyu’s heart skips a beat, and then works double time.

“Be careful,” Mother says, “don’t take the back entrance after dark. If it gets any worse I’ll hire a guard.”

Miyu can only sit, frozen, as the woman makes her way down the hall and out of sight.

The hyper vigilance starts after that. Every moment spent outside of the Okiya involves a level of engaged observation that leaves Miyu exhausted by the time she gets home.

Going on errands becomes an ordeal she never expected could be so harrying. Sometimes she feels eyes on her – a regular occurrence since the game – and her heart rate skyrockets as she goes through the motions at a perfectly relaxed pace even though every single part of her is screaming to _go_.

“You’re getting bags under your eyes,” Nanami’s comment registers as odd. Not because she said it – gods know that she’s said worse to Miyu. But because she’s saying it while standing in the doorway of the office at four in the afternoon.

Nanami allocates a certain amount of time to training each day. Her harp practice falls between three and five, so to see her in the doorway is rather suspicious.

“Mother and Kikyo have been gossiping, then? Don’t you usually ignore that?”

Miyu runs a hand through her loose hair, and tries to focus on the numbers before her.

“They’re worried about you,” comments Nanami offhandedly, “you’re pale and we can all tell you’re not sleeping well. If it wasn’t for Masa you’d barely be eating, too.”

Miyu cracks a wry smile, “Careful, Nanami. You almost sound concerned.”

But the geisha doesn’t frown or even flinch. She looks Miyu straight on and says – “So what if I am?”

At this, Miyu is taken off guard. Discomfited, she shifts in her seat and averts herself gaze.

“I’m fine. You know how I get after important matches.”

“I do,” Nanami’s voice is still firm and unyielding, “and I know this isn’t the same thing. What’s wrong?”

Miyu wants desperately, then, to spill all. To give actual details about the game, the aftermath. She knows Nanami has eyes and ears of her own out on the streets, but Rin’s girls aren’t part of her little network.

Instead, she takes a steadying breath and forces the stiff line of her shoulders to ease.

“It’s nothing,” she smiles, “I-”

“I know you’re lying,” Nanami pushes away from where she’d been leaning in the door frame, “and I’m not going to push you. But you know you can tell me. I’m not delicate like Kikyo or the others.”

And then she turns on her heel and leaves.

Miyu stares down at the papers on her desk, sight blurry with unshed tears. She’s exhausted.

She pulls out a narrow piece of paper and begins to write.

_Itachi,_

_I need to see you._

_Please._

_Sincerely_

Her pen hovers over the page, millimetres away from the slight downstroke of her comma.

Then, with hands only slightly shaking, she adds one word to her usual sign off;

_Sincerely yours,_

_Miyu_

She leaves the rolled scroll in Popo-chan’s pot and knows it’ll disappear silently in a day or two.

.

When Miyu wakes, her room is dark. She’s not sure what, exactly, has prompted her into consciousness.

Sleepily, she casts a glance around her room – and just about jumps out of her own skin at the sight of someone crouching in her windowsill.

Her scream catches in her throat as she gets tangled in her blanket in an attempt to get _away_ , and then –

“ _Miyu-san, it’s alright-_ ” she knows that voice!

She stops her flailing and comes to a stop halfway between her futon and the door. Her blankets are still twisted around her legs and she can feel her hair being an absolute mess, but she’s just so relieved to see him that she doesn’t care.

“Itachi?” She asks, even though she can see him more and more clearly as her eyes adjust to the dimness.

He hops off the window ledge into her room, not making a sound even on the tatami.

She kicks her blanket away and scrambles to her feet. For a moment she just takes him in. He’s in all black, with charcoal grey body armour protecting his chest and forearms. Only his biceps are exposed. A dark shape seems to be inked onto one of them, but she can’t make it out.

Her legs manage to carry her the distance between them even though they feel weak with relief.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she keeps her brush with hysteria under wraps as she invites herself into his personal space and wraps her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

He’s still for a long moment.

A small part of her wonders if she’s overstepped, but her heart is still beating slightly too fast and her hands are shaking just a little, so she doesn’t have time to focus on her misstep.

Light weight on her back and he’s – oh, he’s hugging her back. A hand strokes through her hair, somehow not catching on a single tangle she _knows_ is there.

“What is it?” he asks softly.

Miyu takes in a few calming breaths before pulling away.

“I – I-” her words fail her. She feels so _stupid_ , because why would the Daimyo send anyone after her? It’s an insanely self-centred kind of paranoia.

“Miyu?”

Her name rolls of his tongue, absent of formalities, and sends shivers down her spine.

“This is going to sound ridiculous,” she murmurs, “but I’ve been feeling like someone’s watching me. It’s probably paranoia, but I’m not all that sure it’s unwarranted and-”

“Shh,” Itachi stops her rambling with a hand on her cheek. She leans into it, and looks up at his face. Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness somewhat, and she can make out the dark brown of his eyes in her dim room.

“How long has this been happening?” he questions gently.

“About two months,” she whispers, lifting her hand to wrap it around his wrist. “Maybe a little before that – but I haven’t actually caught anyone.”

Itachi uses his other hand to brush a piece of her hair off her face.

“You’re allowed to be paranoid,” he murmurs, “I’m not certain that you’re not in danger, Miyu.”

She sucks in a sharp breath at that, hand unconsciously tightening around his wrist.

“What do you mean? Have you noticed something? Should I be worried? What-”

“Breathe,” he instructs softly.

She stops. Takes in a deep, slow breath.

“I only mean that after the Fire Festival it would be best to exert caution.”

Miyu nods, feeling lost. Itachi seems to hesitate for a moment.

“May I speak my mind?”

She quirks a brow, and nods.

“I think you should come with me to Konoha,” he says in a low, smooth voice. “It will be hard for anything to happen to you there. Our security wouldn’t allow it.”

“Konoha?” she lets her hand fall away from his. “I can’t. This is my home.”

He’s silent for a moment. Opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it. Finally his hands find hers in the darkness.

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

Miyu thinks about it. Her home is here. Her _family_ are here. She’s more than happy to travel for tournaments, but the certainty of somewhere to return where she has a _place_ makes her feel safe.

Slowly, she shakes her head.

“I see.” She squeezes his hands, and hopes he understands why she can’t go. “I will come by or get someone I trust to come by every week when I can. Just be careful, Miyu.”

She wants to lean in. Pull him close and kiss him because that assurance that he’s going to _try_ is more than she could have asked for.

Before she can do it, he raises his hand to poke her in the forehead, and disappears.

.

Miyu’s in the office, struggling to make her way through Nanami’s correspondence when a shrill scream startles her out of her chair.

Before she can think better of it she’s racing for the door and tearing into the hallway – it sounded like it came from the kitchen so she sprints over and –

Kikyo is standing on a stool, brandishing a broom while Masa wields a plank of wood like a club.

“What is it?” Miyu’s breathless, searching frantically for the threat.

“A spider! It’s huge Mi-chan, it was _this_ close to biting me _oh my gods it’s running for you-_ ”

Miyu can’t help the scream that tears out of her throat because the spider is, in fact, huge, and is also, in fact, running at her with ridiculous eight-legged speed.

She hightails it into the main foyer, lunging for a pair of shoes in the rack before whirling to face the creature. It’s stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, at least the size of her hand. It’s got a huge body and large, hairy legs. It seems to be debating whether to pursue the now armed Miyu or traverse the kitchen again.

“What’re you all fussing about?” Nanami comes down the hall with a yawn, quirking a brow at Miyu. She knows she must look ridiculous, standing poised with a mismatched shoe in each hand, ready to whack at any eight-legged attackers.

She’s panting, because she doesn’t like bugs or spiders or any kind of insect, and the adrenaline rush of hearing the initial scream hasn’t quite left.

“Spider,” her voice is high and strained, and she jerks her head to the doorway where the spider is standing very, very still.

Though Nanami is often unflinching in the face of frogs and cockroaches and other small, distasteful creatures, she seems to have a personal vendetta against arachnids.

Her sharp eyes dart to the spider in the doorway, and Miyu feels a thrill go down her spine. From her sleeves, two fans appear. Miyu knows they’re her metal tipped ones because she ordered them herself.

“A spider?” The geisha’s voice is dangerously low, “In _our_ Okiya?”

Miyu’s body sends her fight or flight into overdrive and she trembles in anticipation. 

For a moment, everything is still.

And then Nanami lunges for the spider, and it darts away as her fan smashes into the spot it had been occupying.

Kikyo screams again as it renters the kitchen, and from her place in the entranceway Miyu hears the sound of the broom smashing into the floor. She runs to the doorway, and almost chokes on her laughter because Masa has joined in with Nanami’s pursuit of the creature, even though she’s had difficulty with her sight as of late.

Watching her blindly smash her plank of wood around while Nanami spits insults at the spider and Kikyo continues screaming is all too much.

She starts laughing, wheezing as the spider runs up the broom to Kikyo’s horrified screeches.

“Hold it, Kikyo!” Nanami shouts, and then hits the broom with such force that it snaps in half. She gets only one of the spider’s legs, and Kikyo’s scream impossibly raises another octave as it skitters towards her on the broom.

She hurls it across the room and the spider thuds into the wall beside the entrance where Miyu stands.

Miyu launches a shoe as the spider hits the floor, but it’s knocked off course by the falling broom.

“Come here you _bastard!”_ Nanami is in hot pursuit, as Masa tries to squash the spider with her plank from a short distance. She hits the shoe Miyu threw instead, and blindly _keeps_ hitting it, probably thinking it’s the spider.

Miyu’s gasping now, trying to see through the tears streaming down her cheeks as she doubles over with laughter.

The spider is running through the middle of the room now, between Masa’s legs and back towards Kikyo, who is obviously the weak link.

“What’s all this ruckus about?” Mother is suddenly at the back door, watching with a frown as the scene unfolds.

The spider changes course and Nanami growls inhumanly, throwing a fan that crashes in front of it and makes it change course _again_ – right into the downward swing of Masa’s random plank-smashing.

Several things happen at once.

Kikyo yelps in victory.

Nanami shouts in triumph.

And as the plank hits the spider, it _explodes_ , and thousands of tiny spiders skitter from its crushed body.

Mother is cursing now, and Nanami is stomping on as many as she can with a vengeance. Kikyo is wailing up on the stool, and Masa is very confused because she can’t quite see the tiny army of baby spiders rapidly spreading through the kitchen.

Miyu? She runs for the front door, slips on a seemingly random pair of shoes, and makes for the exterminator’s office as fast as she can.

There are tears of laughter on her cheeks and she’s still breathless – for the first time in months, she feels light.

.

Summer is ending and as the leaves turn from green to varying ranges of orange, red, yellow, and purple, the tidal wave of Nanami’s requests floods in.

Miyu doesn’t mind not leaving the Okiya. She often has the girls from her network scouting the potential patrons meet her in the office, so she feels safe inside.

The office is the most secure place in the Okiya, mainly because she keeps their books and all correspondence within its four walls. Mother is paranoid about other Okiya in the district and is weary of spies stealing their patronage.

Even if other Okiya were privy to the information, it’s doubtful that they’d be able to poach Nanami’s loyal clientele.

But today, Miyu has arranged for a meeting with a new patron to take place under the sharp eyes of Mother in the tearoom out back.

She watches silently from the secret slats in their storeroom as the young, handsome man fumbles his way through his interaction with Nanami.

It’s amusing to witness, and Miyu catches Kikyo struggling to suppress her smile as he almost drops his teacup for the second time.

He’s a promising candidate. The second youngest son of a wealthy family, well-bred, yet still naïve. With a role in their family business in exotic wares, and an inferiority complex to his three older brothers, he’s ripe for the taking.

Nanami knows this too, if her practiced blush above the curve of her fan in any indication. He’s besotted, and terribly naïve to let them see it.

He takes his leave and they all take their places around the table as Masa finishes preparing their supper.

“I don’t like him,” Mother says, cleaning her pipe with nimble fingers. “Too young.”

“I think he’s a good prospect,” Nanami disagrees, and Miyu is unsurprised.

“If we can confirm his wealth, I think this could work,” Kikyo says, eyeing the tense stares being exchanged between Nanami and Mother.

“Miyu,” Mother says though her eyes never leave Nanami’s, “what is your evaluation?”

Suppressing a sigh at this ritual they repeat every time a new patron has their first meeting, Miyu folds her hands in her lap and takes a calming breath.

“Fukushiro Wataru is the fourth son of a noble house that deals in fine wares. While his eldest brother holds the ceremonial heir position, the second eldest is a rebel and traverses the elemental nations as a known gambler and womaniser.”

Masa sets the last of the food down and they begin eating.

“The third brother has a fine eye for art and craftsmanship and so spends his time as their warehouse manager.”

She brings the chopsticks to her mouth and takes a small mouthful of rice. Kikyo is listening raptly, food ignored. Nanami is frowning delicately at her bowl, though it too is untouched.

“Wataru is the fourth in line. He is known for being shy and reclusive, but he is rumoured to be an honourable man with a penchant for hard work and a talent with numbers.”

Miyu takes a sip of tea and resumes.

“He manages the financials of the company at twenty-four. In the time he’s been working, the profits have gone up by fifty percent.”

Mother is gloating across the table and Miyu catches sight of Nanami’s clenched fist over her knee, out of sight from Mother.

“The Fukushiro clan are noble and their greatest embarrassment has been the debts racked up by their second son. On six occasions they have made repayments to innkeepers, restaurants, debt collectors, and courtesans, who their son had almost scammed.”

“In this case,” Miyu eats another bite of rice, noting that Masa is the only other one eating without a care in the world. She chews and swallows before continuing, “I believe Wataru would make a good patron. He will not make false offers, and he definitely has the financials to back them.”

Nanami’s the one gloating now, though Mother hasn’t quite stopped yet.

“If he happens to fall short on payments, it’s likely his parents or older brother will reimburse us to save face. We are a reputable establishment and any word against him will be taken seriously by the district and the circle of nobles we deal with.”

At that she lets herself eat.

Nanami is radiating smug energy and Mother never stopped her gloating. Kikyo is looking between them, visibly confused.

Miyu continues to eat because while Masa may be losing her hearing and going just a little blind, she can cook like it’s nobody’s business.

.

 _Itachi_ ,

_I’m glad to hear Shisui got a taste of his own medicine! The rumour about his extra nipple was particularly good, I hope he suffers. Excuse my vehemence, I haven’t gotten over the rumour he spread about my con-man status. _

_I think things are calming down, finally. I’ve been busy at work securing a few more patrons, and the influx of inquiries grows each day. Nanami is famous enough that we may have to hire her a guard soon._

_The Autumn festival is approaching – we celebrate it in the capital every year. Will you come?_

_Sincerely yours,_

_Miyu_

.

She receives no response before the Autumn Festival and tries not to be disheartened. He’s a ninja. She can’t imagine the hardships he faces daily, and there’s no guarantee he’s even received her message if he’s undercover. 

The afternoon and early evening is spent on the streets with Kikyo. Nanami is at a party, so the two of them play games and win stupid toys and laugh hard enough at Miyu’s attempt to win a crow plushie by hitting a target that she consistently misses, that Kikyo’s makeup starts to run.

They eat dango and buy enough for Mother and Masa, too. Nanami won’t thank them for any sweets they bring her anyway.

They buy matching autumn-themed hairpins from a street vendor, and get Nanami a fan artfully painted with red and orange maple leaves. She’ll scoff at the quality, but Miyu knows she’ll set it atop her dresser with all the other trinkets they buy her at every festival she must miss due to her role.

Silently, Miyu wonders at her sentimentality. The expensive gifts from her best patrons sit tucked away in drawers, often still in their boxes.

They buy a shogi set painted with decorative leaves, and a pretty matching chopstick set for Mother and Masa.

It’s evening by the time they return to the lantern-lit Okiya, and they split for their rooms. Miyu yawns behind her hand and enters her room with a sigh. She sets her trinkets on her dresser and pulls her hairpin out of her bun.

Her hair swings heavily down her back, and she runs a hand through it with a sigh.

She stretches her arms above her head and begins undressing, undoing her obi with precise movements. She’s shrugging off her outer layer when someone clears their throat.

Dropping her yukata the rest of the way, she snatches her hairpin from the table and whirls to find the source of the sound.

Stepping out of the shadows in the corner of her room is –

“Itachi!” 

The smile comes despite her valiant attempt to fight it. Sure, she’s only in her thin under-robes, and he had scared the life out of her, but he’s _here_.

She lunges over her tatami and he catches her with a small huff.

“You _came!_ ”

She pulls away from his chest and beams up at him.

His face goes from unreadable to lightly amused with the faintest softening of his brow and a quirk to his lips.

“I apologise for my lateness.”

She pouts playfully at him and harrumphs with a frown.

“I couldn’t win this stupid crow plushie without you,” she wonders if he’d have laughed at her attempts to win it, “I spent an ungodly amount on my twelve tries.”

He snickers and she pulls out of his arms with a real pout.

“I’ll get you a plushie next time,” he offers with an apologetic smile.

Miyu relents and slips on her outer layer again before reaching for the bag containing her new shogi set. It’s surprisingly good quality for a seasonal vendor. She says as much to Itachi, and he inspects the pieces with a hum. He’s squinting as he peers at the little leaves on the back of the king when she realises he’s still in mission gear.

“Are you hungry?” She asks, moving for the door, “I’ll bring you something-”

His hand darts out to grasp at hers and she pauses.

“The fireworks are about to start,” he says, setting the shogi piece back into its pouch with a small clink.

“You’re not hungry? Oh, wait!” She reaches into one of the bags and pulls out two rectangular cardboard takeaway boxes.

“We can eat this while we watch them! Let’s go-”

In the next breath her feet are swept out from under her and they’re moving so fast she has to shut her eyes to keep them from watering.

But a heartbeat later they’re standing on the roof of the tea house next door. She’s a little proud that she managed not to screech this time.

Itachi sets her on her feet, and nods towards the generator behind them, “Care for a seat?”

Before Miyu can reply, he’s holding a blanket. He sets it over the cold metal, and gestures for her to go before him.

“Thank you,” she smiles, and sits, handing him a box.

He sits beside her and she takes a moment to survey the streets from their vantage point while he opens it.

“Dango,” she can hear the excitement in his tone.

“Dango,” she confirms, eyes roaming the lantern-lit streets. The Autumn festival has always been her favourite. Warm reds and oranges, a splash of yellow and purple – the lanterns reflect these colours and make the city glow.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs to herself, breathing in the clear air of the rooftop.

“Here,” Itachi presses her stick of dango into her hand and she watches with bemusement as he almost inhales his.

She takes a bite of one and then hands it back to him.

“I ate earlier, honestly.”

He stares at her with dark eyes, unreadable.

“Take it,” she presses the topmost dango to his mouth and tries to ignore the shiver that goes down her spine as he opens to take a bite, eyes never leaving hers.

Suddenly breathless, she looks back to the skyline as the first whistle of a firework launching sounds.

They crackle and shimmer in the sky, and she tracks the pretty lights with muted joy. Fireworks have always been nostalgic for Miyu. They remind her of being young - poor and malnourished, hardly enough money to eat most days. But at the festivals, the fireworks were one of the few things that were free.

She’d view them from her room, leaning against the splintering window ledge to watch the colours dance in the night sky.

A soft touch on her chin and she pulls her gaze from the display to meet Itachi’s eyes. His fingers are calloused against the curve of her jaw, and Miyu watches the glittering reflection of the fireworks in his dark eyes.

His face gets closer, and she feels hypnotised as his mask of indifference melts away. Behind it, something tender and warm.

He stops, just a breath away, and murmurs, “May I?”

It’s Miyu that leans in, so close that his breath tickles at her lips, and then –

“Captain Uchiha,” the monotonous voice startles Miyu, and it’s only Itachi’s reflexes that stop their heads from colliding painfully.

There’s a figure in all black standing on the rooftop only a few metres away. Their flat white mask obscures their face, and while Miyu watches they make a few hand signs.

“Ah,” Itachi stands swiftly, “something rather urgent has come up. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologise,” she tries to conceal her blush as she stands, wondering how much the masked operative saw.

Itachi sets her back in her room in the blink of an eye.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” he says lowly from where he’s perched in the window frame.

“I understand,” Miyu responds evenly, but her chest feels too tight. “Be safe.”

His hand reaches out, and even though she’s prepared the poke to her forehead sends a warm, pleasant tingle along the crown of her head.

He disappears into the colourful night, and Miyu stands there for a few moments, disappointment warring with her giddiness.

The door bangs open behind her and she jolts, spinning to see Nanami – half her hair pins pulled out but her makeup still impeccable – in the doorway.

“Were you just talking to someone?” she asks bluntly.

“Popo-chan,” Miyu says, watching Nanami’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“You only do that on certain days. Don’t think you can fool me.” She leans in a little and looks around the room. “Was someone here? Is that why you’ve been so _weird_ these past few months?”

Miyu hopes her blush has faded enough that Nanami can’t spot it.

“No,” she replies as evenly as she can, turning to her dresser, “to both of your questions.”

“Hm,” Nanami doesn’t sound convinced, “still don’t believe you.”

Miyu doesn’t roll her eyes, but only because the mirror on her dresser will betray her to Nanami who is very obviously watching her reflection.

“The fan is ugly, by the way,” she yawns as she leans in the door, and still manages to look graceful.

“Throw it away, then,” Miyu shrugs, setting up her new shogi board.

Nanami scoffs, and yawns again. “Is that a new board? I’ve been meaning to practice.”

Miyu tries to hide her smile, but the pinched expression of Nanami’s reflection tells her she’s not done a good enough job.

“Take off your makeup,” Miyu says over her shoulder, “get comfortable. We’ll have a quick game.”

“What makes you think it’ll be quick?” Nanami’s smirk is too pretty to be called that.

Miyu only gives her a challenging smile, “We’ll see.”

.

Nanami was the main attraction of the party at the Autumn Festival, and it becomes evident that she did an impeccable job as per usual when their post arrives over the next week.

Miyu’s brow twitches as she watches the letters and scrolls get stacked onto a side table in the office. There’s too much to fit on her main desk. She shoots Nanami a betrayed look, but the geisha only gives her a sharp smile in response.

“Have fun, _Miyu_ ,” she sings her name as she makes for her own room, and Miyu rubs at her temples, eyes already blurring despite the morning hour.

With a sigh she takes her seat and begins sorting the inquiries and existing correspondence. Priority cases will be addressed first – existing patrons, promising inquiries, and lavish compliments. The rest – inquiries without any background checks, fan mail, and a few love letters, sit in a pile to be addressed at a later date.

She works from sunrise to sunset, taking breaks for tea and food and occasionally to watch Kikyo practice her dancing. It’s an exhausting routine, but it’s effective. It takes her only three days to go through the priority responses, but by the last day she’s crashing hard at her desk.

Miyu falls asleep in the office, her head pillowed on her arm.

.

Crackling. She can hear crackling. What?

She opens her eyes, peering into the office. It’s a lot darker than she thought it would be, and her eyes are stinging, and _shit_ , she can’t breathe-

The smoke is thick and black.

It takes her only a moment to realise the Okiya is on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... anyways.
> 
> that spider story was inspired by something that actually happened to me, my sisters and one of our friends. I live in Australia, it do be wild out here lol
> 
> Making a debut next chapter:  
> \- earrings (in this au)  
> \- raging bisexual (honestly same)  
> \- has a brother complex  
> \- is much more emotionally sound than canon bc his clan is alive and kicking 😌
> 
> Guess who my dudes


	6. panic room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire and smoke. A life gone up in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: anxiety attack
> 
> It's wednesday (again) my dudes (in australia at least lol), and my last day at work before the holidays 
> 
> Guys, i really need this goddamn break. Work has been chaotic for months, and these past few weeks have been hard as hell. I'm sure many of you are in the same boat, but we're almost there guys. ALMOST
> 
> Big thank you to everyone that’s dropped me a comment, you have no idea how much they brighten my day
> 
> this will be the last chapter uploaded before christmas - so to those of you who celebrate it, merry freakin christmas, and to those of you that don't - i hope you have a nice summer (or winter) break and get the rest you deserve
> 
> anywho, here's the next chapter, hope you guys like it!

Miyu runs for the door, wrenches it open, and coughs violently at the sudden wave of smoke and heat. The hallway is impassable.

“Mother!” She yells between hacking coughs, “Masa!”

She can’t hear anything over the roaring flames or the billowing waves of heat. A beam collapses in the hallway, crashing to the floor in an explosion of fiery splinters.

“Nanami!” She’s bellowing now, “Kikyo!”

Fire licks at the threshold.

“Anyone! Can anyone hear me?”

Her only response comes in the creak of the walls and thick, roiling smoke.

Miyu slams the door and races to the window. She could climb out and up the side of the Okiya to reach Kikyo’s room, and maybe even Masa’s.

She wrenches the window open, eyes streaming with tears from the heavy, heated smoke, coughing so violently she almost doubles over.

It opens inwards, and Miyu takes a second to try and understand what she’s seeing. Beyond the shutters, there is only – wood?

Wooden boards?

Someone has _barred_ them in?

Panic crawls up her throat – or maybe that’s bile – but she doesn’t have the time to spare as she hears the door splintering. She hammers against the boards with her fists frantically, unable to get past the increasing inability to breathe properly.

The tatami and most of their walls are thin and highly flammable, and the office is the only fully wooden room – an attempted security measure from Mother.

It might buy her a few precious minutes.

Hands bloodied and shaking, she picks up her chair and swings it towards the blocked window as hard as she can. It shudders, splinters appearing in the dark wood.

Coughing, she rears back and swings again – it cracks, enough to let some light in from outside, but not enough for her to escape.

Despite the fact that it goes against her every instinct, Miyu shoves the desk to one wall, backs as far into the room as she can go, chair aloft, and charges with a running start for the window.

The chair crashes through first, messily. It splinters the wood and careens through the hole it’s created, leaving jagged edges behind. Too far propelled by momentum, Miyu goes after it.

She hears the tear of cloth, feels a stab of pain in her side and thigh, and then she’s lurching out of the window.

Miyu only has a second to savour a gulp of fresh air before she’s falling to the ground head first.

When she wakes next, the pale light of dawn stings at her eyes. She can hear the crackling and creaking of a fire, smell it in the air. A hacking cough sends a jolt of pain through her, so severe she can’t move for a few moments as she tries to catch her breath.

She blinks up from the ground, and realises the charred, blackened building she’s looking up at is the Okiya.

“No!” Her voice is hoarse and she hurts all over but she pushes herself to her feet anyway.

Her legs tremble as she rounds the side of the building until she’s at what used to be the main entrance. The building has collapsed.

Miyu can feel herself shaking as she takes it in, wondering why no one is _here_ , why no one is _helping._ But she knows why.

The tea stall to the left of what used to be the Okiya is unmarred with the exception of some smoke damage. The windows of her home have been barred shut.

This is her fault, gods, this is her –

A figure appears to her right, out of _nowhere._

Miyu flinches away, stumbles, falls.

Everything jars painfully, and she wonders if this is how she dies. If a ninja has been sent to finish the job.

But when she looks up through her tears she sees red eyes blazing and she feels only _relief._

“Itachi?” She sounds wrecked, small, hurt.

But the street is silent and no alarms have been raised and her home has been burnt to the ground with – with her - her _family_ inside.

The figure kneels before her and it takes a few more blinks through her burning eyes to make out their features.

And then she panics.

Because it’s _not_ Itachi, and he might be here to kill her, and –

“My name is Uchiha Sasuke,” he says in a steady voice, a single hand reaching out to land on her thigh. It’s an odd place to decide to rest his hand.

“Itachi, is he-”

“He’s not here.” Red eyes leave hers, scan her from head to toe.

She chokes out a cry as pain shoots up her leg.

His hand is applying pressure, she realises, to the gash in her thigh. She hadn’t noticed it before, but it does seem to be bleeding.

“We’re leaving,” he says, and then a pack appears out of seemingly nowhere and he pulls bandages from it. He wraps her leg swiftly, and then, peering at the blood on her torso, he wraps that too, straight over her clothes.

“I don’t have time to patch you up now,” he talks to her as he does it and she can do nothing but stare.

And then he moves towards her again and she realises he means to pick her up.

“Wait!” She rasps, looking to the Okiya, “I – is – can you tell me if there’s anyone alive?”

The look he levels her with is unreadable.

“There is no one.”

She realises the sharp intake of breath is hers.

"Are you sure?" she chokes, hoping desperately that he'll double take and find-

"No one." His voice is low and soft.

Feels her face crumpling, her body beginning to shake.

He watches her for only a moment before he leans in and picks her up, one arm beneath her knees and one behind her back.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, and then they are _moving_.

When they stop next, Miyu’s cheeks are sticky with tears that were forced to dry fast along with Sasuke’s pace. Out of the capital, in the canopy of the great Hashirama trees, they halt on a huge branch.

Sasuke sets her down with her back against an enormous trunk, and his pack appears again. Out of it he pulls supplies.

Miyu blinks at him hazily, wanting very badly to sleep. Her head nods for just a second –

“Stay awake,” comes the order, uncompromising, “I’m not a medic, and you probably have a concussion.”

Though her eyelids are heavy and stinging, she nods. It sends a dizzying wave of pain through her head and she barely suppresses her gasp.

Her yukata is torn and blackened with soot. Sasuke clicks his tongue when he realises that her obi is hanging together by barely a thread. He turns to his pack and pulls out a black bundle of cloth.

Opening her yukata, which she can’t even muster up embarrassment about, he disinfects her leg – painful – and applies a few stitches – even _more_ painful. And then he applies an antiseptic balm and wraps it in clean bandages.

There are a few shallow slashes over her abdomen and waist, deep enough to need cleaning and bandaging, but not stitches. She’s grazed her shins and badly bruised her hands – which Sasuke also cleans and bandages, but aside from the potential concussion her head is uninjured.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks, eyes tearing up as she watches him work. “For bleeding on you.”

His hands stop moving, and she looks up to meet his dark gaze.

“It’s alright,” he looks strained, like he’s trying to figure out how to hold himself, or what to say, “you can bleed on me as much as you like-”

He scowls, though she gathers it’s more at himself than anything , “Wait, no – no – I didn’t mean it like that, I just-”

Miyu watches him, still trying to blink away tears. He finally stops, takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. The rectangular painted earrings dangling from his ears rustle against his collar.

“What I meant,” he says stiffly, “is that it’s not a worry. Please don’t apologise.”

Her attempts as keeping the tears at bay fail then, but he doesn’t comment as he resumes his task.

Miyu’s lungs still ache and she coughs painfully every now and then, but aside from her stinging eyes and the dull ache in her chest there’s nothing else wrong with her.

“Change into these,” he holds out the bundle and with stiff fingers she picks them up and realises they’re a spare set of plain black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt.

He has to help her stand, and in the end he basically dresses her. He stoops to her feet and helps her ease her legs into the loose pants. They’re way too big for her, although he uses a strip of her old yukata to make her enough of a belt that the pants don’t completely slide off. Though he looks away when she sheds the rest of her yukata, leaving her in only a light, bloodied camisole, he has no trouble helping her into that either.

He does something with a scroll and her torn, bloodied clothes disappear alongside his supplies.

“Let’s go.”

He turns and gives her his back, crouching. Tentatively, she eases onto it, wincing when her injuries get jostled.

And then they’re moving again, too fast for Miyu to make out anything but blurs of green and brown.

.

“Sugawara-san,” says the blonde man opposite her, “you have gained permission from the Hokage to settle in Konoha as a non-threat to the village.”

His pale blue eyes lack an iris, and his face is stern. He’s from one of Konoha’s distinct clans, but she’s never seen them before.

He had been thorough when he rifled through her memories to ensure she wasn’t an infiltrator, and part of her wonders what he made of her memories. The worst threat she poses is probably upsetting the rankings of existing Konoha shogi competitions with her presence.

She waits for him to say more, head throbbing. The pain behind her eyes is sharp, and her whole head seems to pulse with tension in time with her heartbeat.

“The ninja that brought you here informed us that your life may be in danger due to evidence found on the scene.”

Miyu gives him one slow blink.

_Really? Who would have thought?_

He makes no indication that her lack of response bothers him.

“We advise that you exert caution and hope you enjoy your time in Konoha.”

When she stands the blood rushes to her already pounding head, sending black dots across her vision. With just a small falter she manages to regain her equilibrium and follow the blonde man out of the dim room. They walk through seemingly endless corridors, though the walk feels shorter on the back than it had on her way in.

They finally exit into a reception area of sorts, and the blonde man gestures to the doors.

“I believe someone is collecting you, Sugawara-san.”

She hopes _desperately_ that it’s Itachi.

“Sugawara Miyu.”

Someone says her name as she steps outside, blinded by the bright sunlight of Konoha.

But - it’s _too_ bright, _too_ loud, and her head feels like it’s going to explode and, gods-

.

When she wakes next, she’s in a dim room.

She’s still wearing the clothes Sasuke had lent her, but her bare feet are now clean and her head doesn’t hurt nearly as much. When she shifts, she thinks she feels surprisingly okay.

The room comes into focus gradually. Plain grey walls, a lone window with the curtain drawn. She’s on a king bed, and the covers are a deep navy blue with little throwing stars patterned onto them.

She dares to stretch, wincing as she expects the pull from her stitches, and does a double take when she realises there is none.

There are two doors in the room. One is shut, but the other is open, and it leads to an ensuite. She almost falls out of bed in her haste to reach it, and once she’s standing before the mirror she lifts the hem of the baggy shirt.

Her skin is pale and smooth, not a bandage or scar in sight. She roughly tugs down the pants and finds that there _is_ a scar on her left thigh precisely where the wound had been, but it’s pink and shiny as though it’s had weeks to heal rather than – Ah.

She’d better find out how long she has been out. And, you know. _Where_ she is.

That would be helpful.

Miyu pulls the pants back up, tying the sooty strap of her old yukata around her waist. The top hangs to the middle of her thighs. She washes her face, even though it seems to be clean already, and gives herself a good look in the mirror.

There are bags below her eyes, and her face is pale and drawn. Her hair is somehow not tangled, as though someone had taken care to brush through it while she was out. She ignores how terrified that makes her feel and tries to be glad that it’s sitting in well behaved waves instead.

Steeling herself, she exits the ensuite and makes for what must be the exit. Her feet don’t make a lot of sound on the wooden floorboards, but even then she can’t hear anything outside of the room.

When she gets to the door, she waits for a moment, hand resting against the knob and only trembling slightly. Slowly, quietly, she opens it.

Before her is a living room. There’s a worn old couch and a few armchairs around a low coffee table. The wall opposite her is occupied by a large bookcase.

To her left are a set of windows, and to the right, a kitchen. Which is currently occupied.

Miyu takes a moment to survey the man and young woman as they both look to her.

The man is tall, with a shock of grey, gravity defying hair atop his head. He’s leaning against the countertop, arms crossed over his chest. His face is covered to the bridge of his nose by a skin-tight mask that seems to be part of his shirt. A forehead protector with the Konoha insignia engraved into it is tilted to cover one eye.

The woman sitting at the island, well. Her pink hair is vibrant, but it’s her bright green eyes that take up most of Miyu’s attention. Her heart shaped face is eye catching and the smile she offers is soft.

So _pretty_.

And most likely, deadly. But still –

“Miyu-san,” the woman says, and Miyu’s ridiculously grateful that they both make no move towards her. She doesn’t know that she’d be able to control her instinctive reactions around two ninja who could kill her just like _that_.

“It’s good to see you awake. I’m Sakura.”

Even weak and tired, Miyu has her manners.

She bows neatly, “Forgive me for the intrusion. I’m grateful to make your acquaintance, Sakura-san.” Because of course this must be one of their apartments.

“Mah, mah,” the man waves a hand at her, tone light. “It’s fine, really. Who doesn’t want damsels fainting on them at eleven in the morning?”

“My apologies,” Miyu says without a shred of sincerity, “I had a rather eventful evening, you see.”

“Eventful?” The man quirks his one visible brow – or maybe he raises both, she can’t tell - but he’s not playing coy.

“Rather so,” she nods, and then steps a little closer, “if I may ask where I am-”

“This is Kakashi’s place,” Sakura gestures to the man opposite her. “You’re in Konoha. It’s three in the afternoon, you were out for a little while.”

“Thank you,” Miyu says, watching as Kakashi turns to his cupboard and pulls out a glass. “Was it one of you that I so thoughtlessly fainted on?”

“Yep,” Sakura pops the ‘p’ with a grin, “Kakashi-sensei was worried you were dying so he called me.”

“Dying,” at Miyu’s flat tone, the man in question turns to her and sets a tall glass of water before her. “Does Konoha not have a hospital?”

Sakura throws her head back and cackles then, as Kakashi levels her with an unimpressed look.

“Sakura’s the best medic in Konoha.” He says blandly, “And hospitals suck.”

Miyu blinks. Having never been to one, she wouldn’t know.

“Fair enough,” she nods, and then picks up the glass under the pressure of Kakashi’s dark grey stare.

“You should hydrate,” Sakura tells her, “you had a concussion, and you’ll be feeling the effects of the blood loss for a few more days.”

Miyu finishes the water, and barely sets it down before it reappears again, full. Kakashi keeps staring at her.

“Is there a bank nearby?” She asks before sipping at the second glass.

Kakashi and Sakura share a look that she can’t quite decipher.

“A bank,” repeats Sakura, peering at Miyu as though she needs to check her out again.

“I came here in a bit of a rush,” she can’t help it if her response is dry, “I didn’t-” _couldn’t_ “-bring anything.”

With a pang she’ realises that the others are _dead._ Mother, Masa, Kikyo. Even Nanami, who Miyu thought would stare death down disdainfully until it turned and went the other way. Gone.

They both stare at her.

She represses a sigh and takes another sip of water before continuing, hoping her voice doesn’t tremble with the grief she feels.

“I’d like to withdraw some money, perhaps find a place to stay.”

She finishes the glass and hops off the stool to place it in the sink. She washes it while she’s there, feeling eyes on her back.

“If either of you could point me to a bank, or even the market district, I would greatly appreciate it. I thank you for your hospitality and apologise for imposing on you.”

She accompanies this with a low bow, and when she rises, they’re both _staring._

Kakashi speaks first.

“You don’t have any shoes.”

Miyu looks down to her feet, and then back up to him.

“That can be rectified after I visit a bank.”

Sakura speaks up next.

“How will you verify your identity if you have nothing with you?”

Miyu smiles politely at that.

“I have a very specific security key.”

The ninja exchange another look.

“If it’s too much trouble I’ll find it myself, thank you again for your help-”

“How are you so calm?” Sakura blurts.

Miyu tilts her head and manages to suppress a wince as it throbs a little.

“Sasuke told us how he found you. We were expecting tears and hysterics… not _this_.”

Ah. Miyu could very easily break down at any second. The fact that she has a few urgent tasks to complete is helping her maintain her focus.

“I mustn’t burden you with my problems,” she says instead. “You have been so kind already.”

It’s a diversion, and the way Kakashi is eyeing her tells her he knows.

“I can take you to the bank,” Sakura’s voice is softer, “Sasuke is already out looking for potential apartments. Let me lend you a set of clothes first – I think I even have shoes, hold on.”

Miyu opens her mouth to decline, and then glances down at herself. It’s doubtful anyone will serve her barefoot, dressed in clothes much too large for her.

She will return Sakura’s clothes and repay her some other time.

.

She steps out onto the streets of Konoha with Sakura by her side. As they walk towards what must be the bank, she points out their unmistakeable Hokage monument, as well as the area of their most popular shopping districts.

“The clan compounds are out of the central zone,” she explains, “the Nara take up the north west along with a large chunk of forest and research labs. The Yamanaka, the west and a section of greenhouses. The Inuzuka are south west with the veterinary district in their compound.”

Miyu listens to the chatter, grateful that she doesn’t have to speak about herself. Konoha passes her by in a haze of colour that doesn't register.

They make it to the bank and stand in line only for five minutes. Sakura keeps talking, and Miyu knows she’s trying to keep her distracted until they’re in private.

“Sugawara Miyu,” she says to the teller, “I’d like access to my account. Unfortunately, I have no identification with me, and will need to submit my security key.”

The teller is not talkative, and efficiently hands her the forms.

Miyu fills them out with her complicated key. It’s a combination of shogi moves, an ever-shifting rotation that will never be the same at any bank she goes to.

She hands it in and within five minutes has a pouch borrowed from Sakura, full of cash.

They make for the markets.

She buys clothes, underwear, her essentials. Kitchenware, cleaning and laundry supplies. A shogi set, groceries. The list in her mind gets smaller and smaller. Their purchases are sealed in little scrolls that sit in a pouch strapped to Sakura’s thigh.

“Furniture?” Sakura cocks her pretty head, “Oh, don't worry about that. Sasuke’s taking care of it. He should have your apartment ready soon.”

Miyu wants to ask how but decides against it. He’s an Uchiha, and this is Konoha. The answer would probably just depress her.

They buy her linens next, accounting for a bed. Sakura picks out the sizes, and Miyu chooses neutral colours. Towels, tea-towels, and face washers.

They stop at a shoe store last, and Miyu buys more than she probably needs. Both traditional geta and more practical sandals and heels. Even a pair of boots with winter approaching.

At a signal of some kind that Miyu can’t make out, Sakura leads her out of the shopping district. They walk for only ten minutes before they make it to a well-kempt apartment block. It looks new, with impeccable white paint on the exterior and a dark red roof. It’s ten or so stories high, and when Sakura leads them inside they go up nine flights of stairs before stopping at a door marked nine-zero-three.

Miyu takes a deep breath before stepping in behind her chaperone.

The floors are all hardwood, and as they take their shoes off in the entrance the differences to the Okiya leap out at her. The kitchen is to the left against the furthermost wall, with a dining table in the far left corner. To the right is the lounge and living area, a large open space with a bookcase along the wall and a sliding glass door that leads to the balcony.

There’s a corridor at the end of the open living space, which Miyu finds leads to her bedroom and its connecting ensuite, a main bathroom, a guest bedroom, and a laundry room. It’s more space than she’s ever had to herself before.

“Shall we?” Sakura asks, pulling the various scrolls out as another six versions of her pop into existence.

They get to work.

.

When she’s finally alone, she takes a moment to survey the apartment again. It’s painfully sparse, and a glance towards the empty window frame by the kitchen sink reminds her sharply that even Popo-chan is gone now.

There’s not much for her to do. Sakura had used her clones to unpack the clothes she’d brought. The two of them had organised the kitchen and the linen cupboard. With the groceries packed, the only thing left is to make her bed.

She’s never had a bed before. Always a futon.

Getting the fitted cover on is work for her exhausted body, but it’s distracting enough. She enters her ensuite for the first time, already stocked with anything she could possibly need by Sakura.

She turns a tap, and steps under the sudden stream fully clothed. The water is cold, but she refuses to let herself jerk away from it.

The clothes Sakura lent her aren’t heavy even when drenched, and she thinks distantly that they must be special ninja-grade cloth.

Her body starts to tremble, and she can’t fool herself into thinking it’s because of the water that’s gradually warming.

But here, alone in the shower, Miyu has nothing _left_.

To do - to distract - from the sudden gaping hole that was her life at the Okiya.

Her breaths are coming in short pants now, and she leans against the cold tiles as her eyes sting and blur. She can almost pretend it’s a response to the steam that’s steadily rising in the room.

A sob tears out of her chest, and she slides down the wall as her knees buckle. The water is too hot now, and the steam is making it hard to breathe, but she lets the discomfort ground her.

In the corner of her blurry gaze she sees shifting shogi pieces against the bathroom wall. She refuses to _look_ , but she knows exactly what they’re playing out.

The game at the Fire Festival. On repeat, each shift of a piece accompanied by a feeling, a sentence, vivid flashes - details that she doesn’t _want_ to remember. But she can’t _stop_ , can’t _breathe_ , and the board is so _loud_ –

Miyu squeezes her eyes shut, hands pressing into her temples to alleviate the pressure that keeps building and building and building - 

She barely registers when the water starts to turn lukewarm, and then ice cold.

Doesn’t notice when her teeth start to chatter, body wracked with shivers.

Can’t block out the game or the memories or the grief as Nanami and Masa and Mother and Kikyo roll through her aching head. She wants to memorise them, every single detail, before they blur into her past like her mother and the old grocer and a boy with dirty blonde hair and pale green eyes and -

Distantly she hears a knock on the door she hadn’t realised she’d closed behind her.

“Miyu?”

The sound of her name filters into her head, and she realises suddenly how _cold_ she is.

“Miyu, is everything alright?”

She can’t recognise the voice over how loud her thoughts are.

“I’m fine,” her voice is husky and her throat feels too tight.

“I’m going to come in-”

“I’m fine,” she repeats louder. “I’ll be out soon.”

Her legs shake hard as she pushes herself upright and begins to strip out of her soaking clothes. The water is frigid and her limbs are almost numb with cold, but she forces herself through the motions and washes herself as thoroughly as she can, scrubbing at her hair with shaking hands and hoping she gets the muted twang of smoke off her.

The shampoo is scented like pomegranate, her body wash like vanilla, and conditioner like pears. They’re new scents, and she doesn’t know whether to be grateful or upset that they don’t quite match those at the Okiya.

She exits the shower and dries herself thoroughly. Hesitates at the door, because someone is in her house and she’d forgotten a change of clothes.

Miyu wraps the towel around her and secures it. Her hair is heavy and wet as it hangs down her back, and her brush is at her sit-down dresser.

She opens the door and tries not to jump out of her skin at the sight of a figure reclining on her bed. At the sight of grey hair she relaxes, because Kakashi is apparently a friend to Itachi and that’s better than a stranger.

“Ah. So you are human, after all.”

Miyu knows she looks a mess. Her eyes are stinging and her nose is red and she’s still shivering and pale from the cold water.

Kakashi is lounging on her bed, one hand behind his head, the other holding a book open in his lap.

“What made you think I wasn’t?” Her voice is thick and scratchy, and she’s still shivering even as she makes her way to her dresser to pull some clothes out.

“Oh, not much,” his tone is light as he flips a page leisurely, “just the unnerving composure under what must be a very traumatic situation.”

Miyu’s hands clench around the jumper she’s chosen, and she forces herself to continue completing her little tasks before she can have another episode.

Jumper – done.

Underwear – done.

Pants – done.

“You should probably brush your hair,” Kakashi comments offhandedly, “those tangles don’t look fun.”

Miyu snatches her brush off her dresser and re-enters the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.

She dresses, still shivering. Starting from her ends, she brushes out her hair and tries to towel dry it as much as she can. Then she brushes her teeth and tries to ignore the clinking of pieces at her right ear.

Picking up the soaking clothes lent to her by Sakura, she exits the bathroom again. Kakashi is nowhere in sight, but she can hear someone rummaging around in her kitchen.

She goes into her laundry, shoves the wet clothes into the wash, and then doubles back to her room. Gathering armfuls of her new clothes, she takes them to the washing machine and shoves in as much as it allows.

She adds detergent and turns it on before heading out to the kitchen.

Kakashi is making tea. Miyu stands at the island and tries not to shiver.

“Here,” he sets a steaming cup into her hands, “your lips are blue, by the way.”

She presses them into a line and hopes he doesn’t read despair in the lines of her face.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, walking over to her couch. Sasuke has good taste, because the leather is smooth and buttery and when she sits it gently accommodates her without being too soft.

She sips at the tea. It’s pretty terrible, but it helps warm her hands and her mouth at least.

Kakashi must be taking extra care to project the sound of his footsteps as he seats himself on the armchair – a choice Miyu realises that allows him a good vantage point of the entrances to the apartment.

His book appears again, and Miyu can only be grateful that she doesn’t have to talk. The board is still there in the corner of her eye, and though it burns a little she forces her palms into contact with the hot porcelain of her mug to keep herself present.

She can smell oolong, though the cup in her hands bears jasmine tea. Her sweater is dark blue but it _feels_ pale lilac and – gods - she’s going to spiral again if she doesn’t –

“Take a deep breath,” Kakashi’s deep voice leaves no room for argument. It’s an order, one she makes herself obey.

Closing her eyes, she inhales slowly. She can see the board on the back of her eyelids, and it makes her feel like crying again because it won’t _stop_.

“You’re doing well,” he comments, and she somehow feels like he’s struck a balance between seeming uncaring while actively helping.

“Am I?” Her voice wavers, and her eyes are hot and stinging again when she opens them. “I feel like a fucking mess.”

She half-hiccups, squeezing her mug hard in an effort to compose herself.

“I apologise for my language,” she says shortly, and yep, there goes the knight, and she feels the swish of her hair coming loose from her pin.

“Don’t,” his authoritative voice cuts through her attempted posturing, “we’re in your home. Do whatever you want.”

She chokes out a laugh at that, spilling her tea over her fingers and onto her lap as she does, because this _isn’t_ home. In an instant the cup is gone, placed on the table before her as Kakashi procures a tea towel from nowhere to wipe her hands and her legs.

“If I do what I want, it’ll never _stop_ ,” her voice breaks and she feels herself creeping closer to hysteria, the clicking of the shogi pieces against her wall keep getting _louder_ and it’s getting harder and harder to focus on the man crouching before her, holding her hands in his own.

“Look at me.” He orders, and she tears her gaze away from where she’d been about to _look_ at the board again.

His dark grey eye is solemn, “Do you know who did it?”

The pressure at her temples intensifies and Miyu finds herself incapable of responding. How _can_ she respond? What would she even say?

 _Yes, I do. It was my idiocy that did it. Lit the fire and barred the doors and windows, and rode into the sunset with my future_.

It sounds less mad than declaring the most powerful man in the country cared enough about her to want her and everyone else in the Okiya dead.

So she nods around the headache blooming into existence, and wishes that he would squeeze her hands a little harder to keep her anchored in their conversation.

She stares in the general vicinity of Kakashi’s face and resolutely tries to ignore the pieces shifting on the wall over his right shoulder. As it is, she struggles to hear him over the sound of Makishima’s footsteps as he swept out of the hall.

“What can you tell me?” Kakashi is tilting his head now, trying to catch her eye.

It’s just so _hard_ to figure out what’s real and what’s not when everything is so loud.

“There’s nothing you can do,” she feels disconnected from the sound of her own voice, “nothing anyone can do.”

The man before her is silent for a moment, hands still cradling hers.

“What makes you say that?” He’s doing his best to stop her dissociation and she tries hard to help him.

“The man responsible is untouchable.”

His eye crinkles in a way that indicates a smile.

“No one is untouchable, Miyu-san.”

She clenches her fists and he clenches right back. A silent promise to keep her as present as possible.

“Touching this man would have consequences,” she manages to get out, voice flat and dull, “even for someone as esteemed as your Hokage.”

She watches distantly as his eye loses its crinkle. Can vaguely appreciate its sudden seriousness.

“How did you get a target on your back from someone like _that_?”

Pieces, shifting. The sound of a condescending tone. The cool feel of the board, the scent of incense in the room. Her clothes, stiff and expensive. Hot breath at her neck. The feeling of eyes, _so many eyes_ \- on her.

“I was a _fool_ ,” her voice is thick now and she can feel herself slipping, “what did I think I was doing?”

She pulls her hands away from him, presses them to her temples and tries to block everything out.

“Gods, I may as well have signed my life away the moment he asked for a game,” her voice is rising as everything rushes in, the sounds and smells and the way she felt – colours and _looks_ and physical sensation.

“They’re all dead because I couldn’t just – oh _gods-_ ”

Hands, pulling hers away from her head, fingers pressing hard into the insides of her wrists.

“Breathe with me now,” she can hear a voice but she feels like she _is_ the board, waiting anxiously for a piece to slide over her and crush her. Would she die instantly? Suffocate slowly? How long until she couldn’t _do_ this anymore –

“Miyu, listen-”

She can’t see out of her blurry, burning eyes, and her chest is so tight it’s physically painful.

“-you need to try and concentrate on me-”

_“It was a true challenge.”_

Her last words to the Daimyo ring through her head, sharp and final. She should have shut her mouth and taken his insults with more smile and less sass.

Gods, the anger she felt that evening makes her feel too hot, too frustrated, and the tears that plague her change flavour to accommodate that.

“-going to make yourself-”

It’s too much, too bright, and she wants it to stop so she can dedicate herself to memorising –

Oh, gods, they’re really _dead_ , and Miyu’s not but she should be – it was never meant to be _their_ punishment but of course –

She feels young and small again, just a girl lying in her dingy room listening to her father raging on the day that her mother hit the ground and never got up again.

A little older, watching her friend’s back as he tried to guard her from the chaos, watching frozen as he gets struck _down_.

So loud, so vivid, and she just wants it to end.

And then she sees _red_.

.

“- do you mean you put her under genjutsu?”

Miyu’s consciousness filters back to her slowly.

“She was _bad_ , you didn’t see it. You weren’t here, remember?”

Silence.

“Thank you for watching over her,” comes the stiff response.

“What happened to make the Daimyo decide to murder her?” The question is so blunt she almost emerges from the last dregs of sleep to snap back a dry retort.

“She’s the shogi player.”

A moment of silence.

“Ah. I should have suspected. Sasuke was unusually diligent about a woman he didn’t seem to know.”

“I told him nothing. But my little brother listens to the gossip as much as any ninja.” 

Little brother? Then that must mean –

She forces her eyes open, and then inhales sharply as the soft light from the kitchen makes her head pound. Someone has laid her out on the couch and placed a blanket over her.

Miyu blinks as she takes in the coffee table and armchairs, and then shakily tries to push herself upright.

Another blink, and Itachi is _right there,_ crouching before her with his hands extended to help her.

The relief is unmatched. Her arms go weak and she tilts forward, knowing that he won’t let her fall.

“ _Itachi_ ,” she murmurs, cheek resting in the crook of his neck, lips skimming the side of his throat. His arms have come up around her, and they’re steady and strong.

“Miyu,” she barely catches his whisper, but she doesn’t think she’s ever felt so safe in her life.

“I wasn’t sure where you were,” her hands come up to fist in the back of his shirt. “I didn’t think anyone would tell me, so I didn’t ask.”

A soft laugh huffed into her hairline.

“Clever. I was meant to be out of the village for another week but Sasuke got word to me so…”

She’s suddenly even _more_ inclined to like his little brother. If he hadn’t showed up, hadn’t helped her, she doesn’t want to think where she’d be right now.

“He has been so kind to me,” she lets her eyes close and just enjoys the feeling of Itachi holding her. “His team, too. But Kakashi thought I wasn’t human. Rude, don’t you think?”

From somewhere behind her – in her… kitchen? – a chuckle sounds.

“I stand corrected,” he sounds like he’s smiling. “You’re just more like Itachi than I realised anyone else could be.”

She feels Itachi’s huff as it tickles her forehead. But her eyes are already heavy and she’s way more comfortable than she’s been in a while.

“We should get you to bed. You’re falling asleep,” she can hear the smile in his voice.

“Hmm,” she feels his arm slide under her knees and then she’s being lifted effortlessly.

“You’ll stay, right?” She yawns, barely registering their movement before he’s setting her down onto her bed.

Oh, she owes Sasuke. It’s firm but supple, and makes her feel as though she’s floating. The sheets are silky and breathable, but warm as Itachi pulls the blanket over her.

“Of course,” his lips skim her ear as he leans down to tuck her in.

She drifts off, exhausted, with the feel of his fingertips brushing at her forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..so... Sasuke... Sakura... Kakashi... Itachi... 
> 
> who's your fave out of that lineup? 
> 
> also, I understand that Miyu's reaction to the situation may seem odd, but... well, everyone deals with shock and grief differently, and this isn't exactly the first time she's lost everything. It's not even the second, but that's a chapter for another day.
> 
> also, YES, Sasuke was being nosy as hell going to sus out who Miyu was, and just happened to get there at the right time. He's lowkey terrified that Itachi will be upset with him for snooping but also knows his older brother cannot be mad at him for long seeing as he rescued Miyu. 
> 
> Sasuke still put in 100x more effort into getting her made a temporary citizen in record time, finding her an apartment, and doing all her furniture shopping. He has rly good taste dont @me he's not the Sasuke we knew in shippuden with his questionable fashion choices ok
> 
> until next week my dudes


	7. dreamlike candlelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief weighs heavy. But some people are like sunshine - warm and bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays my guys/gals/others
> 
> We have had TERRIBLE weather. Australian summers back at it lols. Drove 4 hours south to our usual holiday spot and only had one good day, but I'm grateful I was able to go on holidays at all
> 
> Here, Miyu deals with her grief and meets a very important chaperone!!!
> 
> Enjoy!

Miyu dreams of bodies. Melting flesh, charred bones, mouths frozen open, eternally screaming.

She wakes with a jerk, and spends a few long seconds trying to orient herself.

Konoha. Right.

Faint traces of light seep around the edges of her curtains so she gets up and opens them. It’s still early, just past dawn by the looks of it.

She brushes her teeth and washes her face, and then lets herself look in the mirror. Her eyes are still red rimmed, and her hair is a mess, but despite the threat of the board lingering in the corner of her eye, she commits today to remembering her home.

The Okiya will be immortalised in her mind the way her childhood room will forever be.

A place where Masa is rustling around in the kitchen. Kikyo, stopping by the office with tea. Nanami and her stupid harp that Miyu would give almost anything to hear again. Mother and her uncompromising trust in Miyu. Popo-chan and his hat, and everything he had meant to her. A reminder of her past, a promise to a friend lost too soon, a commitment to her future.

Ashes, now.

But they’ll live in Miyu’s mind, calm and peaceful as they can be with Masa terrifying Kikyo with her superstitions, the scent of Mother’s tobacco in the halls – Nanami, ruthless and graceful, and so, so talented, reciting poetry, practicing her laugh, singing and dancing and playing her harp to continue being the best she can be.

It hurts, but Miyu thinks it’s the least she deserves.

She _should_ be hurting. But she’s not going to focus on how this is undeniably her fault. Instead she’s going to devote herself to them, an atonement that will never be enough.

Brushing her hair, she thinks about Masa and Mother twisting Nanami’s hair into elaborate styles. Kikyo, watching, lip worried between her teeth in concentration. Miyu in the doorway, smirking at Nanami’s pinched expression because Mother’s not one to be called gentle.

Kikyo, pouting over dinner because she _hates_ grilled mackerel but Masa forgets and continues to make it every Sunday.

Helping Masa in the kitchen because she really had been getting too old to be a housekeeper. Watching Kikyo help with the washing, and Nanami escort her up and down the stairs.

Mother, her pipe between her lips as she scans through the books briefly before nodding and declaring Miyu’s numbers correct.

All the facets of her life in that building, anything she can recall, she forces into the same place of her brain as her little childhood room.

She makes her bed, opens the window wider to let more airflow in, and heads to the laundry. Someone has already moved the load into the dryer, and her clothes and Sakura’s are still warm. She picks up the basket and moves into the main living area.

Then she almost drops it, because Itachi is sitting on her couch, book in hand and a mug of tea on the coffee table.

“Itachi,” she stops in her tracks, unsure how to deal with the sudden surge of fondness. Because she _had_ asked him to stay, and by the looks of it he never left – or even went to sleep.

“Miyu,” he says, still peering at the pages before him. He’s holding the book unusually close to his face, and she wonders if he’s forgotten a pair of glasses at home.

She dumps the basket in the armchair and surges towards him. He barely has time to move the book out of the way before she’s in his lap, arms encircling his neck to hold him close.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she hates that she sounds teary and that this is the closest they’ve ever been – her knees to either side of his hips as her torso leans against his front.

“And I you,” his voice is low and calm, and he must have set the book down because his hands are stroking gently at her back now.

“Did Sasuke tell you what happened?” she asks quietly.

“Yes,” he murmurs, lips brushing the side of her temple.

They sit for a moment in silence.

“I should have left when you told me,” she sags against him, boneless. His hands continue their gentle paths at either side of her spine.

“You did what you thought was right,” of course he’s comforting her.

“It wasn’t right though,” she pulls back to look him in his eyes. “It wasn’t, Itachi. And they’re all dead because I-”

“Shh,” he tugs her gently closer until their foreheads come to rest against one another. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

She closes her eyes and listens to the sound of his breathing – tries to match her own to it.

“I’ve been training since I was three,” his deep tone sends a warm shiver down her spine, but he makes no comment on it.

“Hm,” she lets her own hands weave into his silky hair.

“Every day I was drilled on crisis situations, decision making, weapons handling – all the things that are important to know – before I graduated.”

Her heartbeat is slowing to a calmer pace as his words wash over her.

“Since then I’ve gone on countless missions. As a team member, as a captain. Countless missions, training that has spanned twenty years of my life – and yet, when the time comes to make a decision that could mean life or death?”

She opens her eyes to meet his.

“I don’t always make a decision with a favourable outcome. Sometimes people die. Sometimes I almost die.”

Miyu inhales sharply at that. Death and Itachi in the same thought makes her head and her heart hurt.

“Lingering on what could have been is of no use when something has been _done_. There’s no going back, Miyu. We learn to live with our choices every day, and that’s not something exclusive to ninja.”

She closes her eyes again, lets his even breathing calm her again.

“It’s a matter of human nature, and not even you can outmanoeuvre that.”

The laugh bubbles out of her and she tilts her head back to enjoy it because it’s never felt so good before. Her chest still hurts and her mind is scrambling to maintain the frantic pace at which she is forcing herself through memories she needs to keep, but Itachi has taken her worst fears and made them seem small.

“You keep doing this to me,” she can’t stop her small smile as their eyes meet.

“Doing what?” he cocks his head to the side and she tries to understand how someone can be so beautiful.

“Making me feel like no problem is unconquerable. That no fears can truly hurt me.”

He offers just a tiny quirk of his lip then.

“I credit years of therapy and a rather decent sense of self awareness.”

Miyu raises a brow and shakes her head.

“Self awareness? Tell me why you don’t seem to have a prescription for glasses when you so obviously need them, then.”

She notices the change immediately. Nothing in his body language is different, but the air is suddenly… heavy.

“What.” His tone is flat.

“You were squinting at the book,” she explains, nodding to where he’s set it face-down beside them. “And after the festival, at that shogi tile. Not too hard to puzzle out.”

Itachi’s eyes don’t leave her face.

“I’m just tired.” His expression doesn’t flinch. Not even the slightest.

Miyu offers an unimpressed stare. “I know the kind of hours you can operate on. Don’t think you can get out of this.”

Silence, for just a moment.

And then he huffs out a short laugh.

“What?” she lets a hand trail out of his hair and across his neck until she’s cradling his jaw lightly.

“One day.” The smile in his tone makes her want to smile in turn but she represses it.

“You’ve been here one day, and you’ve figured out a secret I’ve been keeping for almost a year.”

Miyu starts to smile, and then stops.

Because – a _year_?

“Itachi,” her voice sounds very calm, but she notices the sudden tension at the corner of his eyes. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but does your line of work not involve frequent fights, many of them to the death?”

His silence is enough answer.

“Hm. Interesting,” she keeps her eyes trained on his. “And do those fights not often contain projectiles, many of which may be small and hard to see on a good day?”

More silence.

“Aha. One more thing.” She leans in until their noses are almost touching. “Who else knows?”

“No one,” he answers after a beat. “Well, you, now. But no one else.”

“Okay.” She sits back and lets herself frown at him. “Self aware is not a title you get to assume. Why have you kept this secret?”

He averts his eyes and unease stirs in Miyu’s chest. He’s hiding something, and it might be _more_ than steadily deteriorating eyesight.

“I-”

Miyu startles as a knock sounds from the front door. Slightly delayed, she realises it’s _her_ front door, and hurries up off Itachi’s lap to answer it.

The door opens to Shisui’s smiling face.

“Good morning, Miyu-chan!”

She mouths ‘chan’ in confusion as he breezes past her into the apartment to set the bags he’d been holding onto the island bench.

“I brought breakfast.”

Miyu shuts the door and turns to face him. Itachi is on the lounge, organising her laundry. She flushes pink as he picks up a pair of panties and neatly folds them.

“I’ll do that,” her voice only gives away her lack of composure a little.

“Do what?” Itachi asks innocently, and suddenly the entire contents of the basket have been folded and stacked on her low coffee table.

She blushes further because there had definitely been a few questionable pieces of underwear in there. Mostly lace and other skimpy numbers that she _hadn’t_ expected him to fold.

“I brought a housewarming gift, too,” Shisui says, and then unseals – a painting?

She’s sure he intended it as a gag gift, because it’s a painting of a crow standing amongst tiny cacti.

But the cacti remind her of Popo-chan, and the crow could be Chikako. Crows and Itachi – they will always be irrevocably linked to her.

“You don’t like it?” Shisui asks, and Miyu has to forcibly strip the blank expression from her face.

“It’s not that,” she steps forward to inspect it a little closer. It’s well crafted, and she notices a signature in the bottom left corner. It’s not one she recognises, but signed art is handmade art.

“Thank you, Shisui-san,” she gives him a polite smile and takes the large frame from him. “I’ll just put this-”

The painting disappears from her hands and Itachi walks with it to the large empty space on the wall to the right of the door.

He places it on the wall without any hangings and it just _stays._

“Chakra,” explains Shisui from where he’s standing on the other side of her island, unpacking the bag.

“Ah,” she doesn’t understand much about the ninja arts, but chakra seems to be one of its fundamentals.

She busies herself making tea and it makes her miss Kikyo so vividly that she ends up blinking through her tears at the scent of jasmine.

Itachi and Shisui talk quietly behind her, discussing the status of one of their friends who seems to be in hospital after a mission gone south.

She knows they can communicate with more than words and wonders if they’re talking about her. It’s self-centred and short sighted, so she pushes down the thought and turns to them with a tray of tea at the ready.

As she pours it’s Nanami’s practiced hands she thinks of, the plain white cups blur with the hand-painted, intricately patterned ones she had favoured.

“Miyu?”

She looks up to Itachi, aware that her face has fallen into her schooled calm.

“The tea.”

A quick glance down confirms that she’s still pouring into a tiny cup that’s overflowing on to the tray.

“Oh.”

She stops, pours the other two cups as though the tray isn’t full of tea. Neither Itachi or Shisui comment as she uses a tea towel to wipe the bottoms of the cups before she hands them over. 

Neither of them draw her into conversation as they eat. She’s not hungry, hasn’t been for a while, but she forces down a small portion and finishes her tea, burning her tongue in the process.

It’s nothing like Masa’s cooking, nothing like quiet laughter around their low dinner table, sharing looks with Nanami over their bowls of steamed rice as Mother crunches at her pickles in a way that riles them both up.

She wishes she had a talent for drawing. Part of her doesn’t trust her ability to remember every detail of their faces, the expressions they made, and the clothes they wore.

It wouldn’t be able to capture everything – their scents, the sound of their laughter, the way the Okiya felt when they were all home.

But she thinks it would be better than relying on herself.

“Miyu,” Itachi’s voice is pitched low in an obvious attempt not to startle her. “Shisui’s leaving.”

She stands from the bar stool and gives him a practiced smile. “Thank you for visiting, and for your gift. I appreciate it more than you know.”

The curly haired Uchiha gives her a winning smile, and steps forward into her space.

His hug is quick and firm, and he pulls away without giving her the chance to reciprocate it. He leaves, and she stares at the door as Itachi shuts it behind him.

When it’s just the two of them, she meets his eyes and feels her own grow warm, stinging.

“Sasuke said no one else survived,” she says thickly, throat tight, “I was going to try and climb up to Kikyo’s room, but I hit my head and-”

Her breath hitches and she swipes a hand under her eye in frustration as hot, fat tears spill down her cheeks.

“They’re all gone.”

Itachi steps towards her, slowly. His face is unguarded, brows pulling together as he watches her with dark eyes.

“Even Nanami,” a hiccup, and she can’t help the tremble to her shoulders, “ _gone_.”

Hands on her face, and she looks up through blurry eyes as Itachi uses his thumbs to gently wipe at her tears.

“I can go back,” he says softly, “see if there’s anything left-”

“No,” she clings to his arms desperately, “I don’t – whatever’s there isn’t _them_ anymore. I’m just-”

She takes in a shuddering breath.

“I’m trying so hard to remember every little bit of them before I forget.” Her voice shakes with every word and she’s definitely squeezing at his wrists too hard.

“I don’t want to forget.”

.

Itachi takes a shower in her main bathroom after a morning spent together on her couch, and Miyu busies herself in the kitchen. She preps a simple lunch of miso soup, rice, and a beef stir-fry.

Itachi goes over her citizenship and the terms of her apartment lease while she writes down all of Masa’s recipes that she can remember.

They eat lunch and spend the rest of the day on her couch. They don’t talk much, but Miyu doesn’t feel like talking. It’s enough to lean against Itachi’s side as he squints at his book, tracing patterns along the back of his scarred hands.

As night falls, he slants a look down at her.

“I have a mission tomorrow.”

Miyu presses her lips together and lets her head fall against his shoulder.

“Okay.”

He leaves after they finish the leftovers from lunch for dinner, and Miyu stands in the middle of her plain apartment and feels lost.

It’s still relatively early, but she has a shower and goes to bed. Once she’s there, she stares up at her ceiling and tries to think around the sinking pit in her gut and the sound of clinking tiles that will swallow her up if she lets it.

She doesn’t sleep well.

.

Miyu startles from her spot in the kitchen making breakfast as a knock sounds from her balcony door.

From her place between the back bench and the island she can make out pink hair through the glass.

“Come in,” she calls, and then turns to the fridge to get more ingredients.

“Good morning,” Sakura’s smile leaks into her tone beautifully. Miyu thinks Nanami would appreciate its effect.

“Good morning, Sakura-san,” Miyu greets as she turns to the chopping board on the island to finish dicing her vegetables. “Join me for breakfast? I’m making omelettes.”

“I couldn’t possibly impose-”

“Nonsense,” Miyu waves the hand not holding a knife at her, “I’d appreciate the company.”

Gods, wasn’t that the truth? Alone in her apartment for four days now, and Miyu feels like she’s going to spiral so far down that she’ll never recover.

“How have you been feeling?” Sakura asks, taking a seat on the other side of the island.

“As well as can be expected,” Miyu says, keeping her gaze on the mushrooms and her knife. “Has the hospital been treating you well?”

“Please don’t deflect with me, Miyu-san,” Sakura’s tone is dry, “it doesn’t look good on your mental health check.”

Miyu pauses at that.

“You’re here on… business, then?” she asks, turning to the stove to set the chopping board beside it.

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Sakura laughs a little, “Sasuke is driving himself crazy trying to make sure you’re alright while his brother is out of the village.”

Miyu smiles a little at that.

“And he won’t come himself?” She tries to mask her amusement, but if the widening of Sakura’s smile is any indication, she’s failed.

Miyu starts frying up her mushroom, onions, capsicums, and bacon.

The ninja shrugs, “He’s conscious of the fact that you last saw him under traumatic circumstances, and he doesn’t want to risk setting you off. Thought it would be safer for me to come by, but I’ve been working back-to-back shifts.”

“Back-to-back shifts?” Miyu raises her brows, “You must be starving. Hold on.”

She cracks three more eggs into her existing egg-bowl and whisks them in.

“Deflecting,” Sakura sighs, rubbing at her temples, “you won’t even address the trauma issue when I gave you an opening.”

Miyu adds the spinach to the pan on the stove and watches it wilt under the heat.

“I… am not accustomed to mental health being taken seriously,” she admits rather sheepishly. “I don’t – well, I’ve never really had to tell anyone how I was feeling before.”

They’d all been able to _see_. Nanami and Kikyo had been best at it, and the two of them never pried or expected her to spill her innermost thoughts with them.

“That makes a little more sense,” Sakura sighs again, and Miyu tips the egg mixture into the pan.

“My apologies if I’m making your work difficult,” she says a little stiffly, because she’s not sure how to get _better_ at this.

“You’re not,” assures Sakura, “but I will need you to be as honest as you can with me. What’s spoken between us is confidential, and I only record behaviours that may pose a danger to you.”

“Ah,” Miyu flips the omelette and the turns to get a few plates out.

“I’d also like to do a physical check up on you after breakfast if you consent.”

Miyu nods and continues assessing the omelette.

It’s rather huge.

She takes it out of the pan and sets it on a plate, for the both of them to pick at. The rice cooker chimes and she gets their bowls out and fills them. The pot of miso soup that’s been simmering on one of the back burners is the last addition to their meal.

“Thank you for the meal,” Sakura says, clapping her hands together and bowing her head briefly.

Miyu mirrors her, albeit a little delayed, but it’s been a little while since she ate with anyone and followed that particular ritual.

“So,” says Sakura between mouthfuls, “how has your sleep been?”

Miyu opens her mouth, and then closes it. Takes a sip of water and keeps her eyes on her chopsticks as she replies, “Broken. I struggle to fall asleep.”

“And you wake up frequently throughout the night,” Sakura says it matter of fact, and it sets Miyu at ease a little.

“Yes,” she confirms, and then takes a small mouthful of rice.

“What would you say is the hardest part of your day in your current routine?” Sakura is still clinical, and the distance from anything emotional is appreciated.

Miyu is quiet for a moment.

“Getting out of bed,” her chest feels a little tight admitting it. She eats another mouthful of rice to have something to do other than stare dejectedly at her bowl.

“Aha. Have you explored Konoha at all, or had any social interactions since Itachi was here?”

Miyu shakes her head and tries not to feel embarrassed. It’s just so _hard_ to think about who she would be.

Before the fire, she was Sugawara Miyu, a renowned shogi champion who loved her life at the most prestigious Okiya in the Fire capital. Miyu, who worked until her eyes burned and her yawns cracked at her jaw.

Who would sit at dinner with four women, all with different names and not a drop of blood shared between them, but _together_. Laughing and drinking tea and analysing nobility and gossiping and –

She isn’t that Miyu anymore. Can never be her again.

“Hey,” Sakura’s voice is low, “it’s alright. Everyone processes grief differently, and you’re not obliged to go and explore.”

Miyu swallows and curls her fingers a little more securely around her chopsticks.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” she manages to get out around the thick ball of emotion in her throat. She presses her lips together and tries to keep her breaths under control, because she shouldn’t have said anything.

It’s her problem to deal with, _hers_ , and the act of burdening someone else with her worries makes her feel ill, _gods_ –

“That’s understandable,” Sakura is nodding, “and I may have a suggestion for you.”

Miyu looks up at that, meets vibrant green eyes with her own.

“I believe a routine may benefit you.” Sakura bites into a piece of the omelette and Miyu averts her gaze to her bowl of rice again.

“Taking a walk a day, maybe visiting some sights, seeing new places, would do you good. And thinking about what you want to do-”

“I want to work,” she blurts, and then feels her face go red. “I apologise for the interruption.”

When she looks up, Sakura doesn’t seem annoyed.

“I want to be busy again,” Miyu explains, fidgeting with her chopsticks a little. “Maybe I can get a position in a library, or in an administrative role, or-”

“You could teach shogi,” Sakura’s suggestion is laced with an undercurrent of something Miyu can’t quite place.

“I don’t have any qualifications to teach,” she says honestly.

“You’re the best in the elemental nations,” Sakura’s matter-of-fact tone once again sets her at ease. “I don’t think anyone is going to care if you’ve got a teaching certificate or not.”

Miyu lets herself think about it, fixing her eyes to one of Sakura’s shoulders.

“Is shogi popular in Konoha?” she decides to ask, keeping as much curiosity out of her tone as she can.

“Every clan, merchant, and ninja child learns shogi at the Academy. Many clans start their children younger than that, often as early as four.”

Sakura’s smile spreads slowly across her pretty face.

“I might know just the right person to ask about this, if you’re interested.”

Miyu takes only a moment to think about it.

“I would appreciate your assistance on this matter, Sakura-san.”

.

“Hiya, Miyu-chan! I’m Naruto, and I’m gonna be the best chaperone ever!”

Miyu blinks at the teen before her. His sunny blonde hair and clear blue eyes are bright enough, but the smile on his boyishly handsome face is almost blinding.

“Good morning, Naruto-san,” she greets, bowing politely, “I thank you for your guidance this morning.”

It’s his turn to blink at her, and she knows he wasn’t expecting this. Not her hair twisted low into an elegant bun, her neat, modest yukata, the courtesies she uses to distance herself so frequently.

“Eh? No, no, don’t bow to me! Did Sakura tell you who I was? Geez, I hate all that formality stuff, believe it! Dad always makes me do it and it’s such a _chore-_ ”

He’s wearing black pants and ninja-grade sandals, with a black singlet beneath an unzipped jacket. It’s bright orange colour is yet another thing about him that radiates positive energy.

“-but at least mum’s on my side, ya know? Anyway, let’s go, I’ll show you the best way there.”

She locks the apartment behind her and follows her loud chaperone down the staircases and out into the Konoha sunshine.

It’s almost nine, and the streets are already full and bustling with life. It’s reminiscent of the capital. The flower districts come alive in the afternoon and night, but the market districts are abuzz with activity from a few hours before sunrise.

“Beautiful, huh?” Naruto sighs, smiling at the people milling about.

Miyu stops comparing and lets herself _look_.

Her street is just off a main shopping strip. Mothers cart their children around, vendors stand talking and laughing, and the scents of food and fresh flowers from a stall across the road drift over to her. The sun is bright and warm, and a cool autumn breeze snatches away the brief build-up of heat.

“It is,” she agrees, and she means it. The village Hidden in the Leaves is one of the safest places in Fire, and one of the most exclusive. Even exposed on the street, surrounded by an unspecified number of ninja who could see her dead at a moment’s notice, she feels secure. Not safe – never _safe_ – but without the paranoia that plagued her past few months in the capital.

When silence is her only response, she chances a glance to her blonde guide. He’s looking at her, a puzzled expression on his face, which is disturbingly easy to read for a ninja. Perhaps it’s a diversion technique?

“Let’s go,” he says, and he’s toned the volume down a little as they go left, the Hokage Monument to their backs.

Naruto keeps up a light stream of chatter, and Miyu contributes whenever is appropriate as she takes in the sights, sounds, and scents of Konoha.

It’s more vibrant than she ever expected a village run by military dictatorship could be.

The people – many civilians, if their clothing is to go by – look content. She wonders if there’s any cracks in this beautiful façade. Cracks like those half-slums she lived in, once. Nameless, faceless, without anyone to care if a woman was beat to death by her husband, or if their daughter ran away to avoid the same fate.

“Here we are!” Naruto declares after a twenty-minute walk through mostly busy streets.

They stand before a large gate, bracketed on either side by tall wooden walls. When the ninja accompanying her knocks, it swings open to a beautiful courtyard.

The high wooden fence surrounds the enclosed area, a mix of immaculately kept gardens and neat stone squares, with dozens of low tables and pillows making up an orderly grid. A chalk board has been pinned against one of the large pillars that supports the shaded walkway spanning the perimeter of the courtyard. At the far end of the – estate? – a traditional building stands, but Miyu can’t see far enough to figure out what’s inside.

“This reminds me of being a kid,” smiles Naruto, obviously nostalgic, “but we had old Tanaka-sensei. You’ll be the first one to work here under the age of fifty, probably.”

Miyu involuntarily smiles back. It’s only small, but it’s genuine, and by the look of the one he gives her in return, Naruto knows it.

“Let’s go!”

.

Miyu’s interview consists of playing all six sensei in a simultaneous. Naruto stands, gaping and making ridiculous sound effects as she neatly shifts from table to table.

“She beat you in thirty-four minutes, Tanaka-oji!”

Miyu keeps her composure even as her opponent swats Naruto across the back of his head with a folded fan.

The first few minutes had made her so nervous that she’d almost been sick. The anxiety churning in her gut at the chance of _that_ game resurfacing mid-interview had been overwhelming.

But she’s beaten four of the six in under forty minutes, and now with only two opponents to go, her stomach and mind have both settled.

“Why is it,” Tanaka’s exasperated sigh has Miyu pressing her lips together to hide her smile, “that you’ve paid more attention to shogi in these forty minutes than you did in your entire six years under our tutelage?”

“Eh?” Naruto’s exclamation is loud and abrasive, “But Tanaka-oji, watching a bunch of old people play doesn’t compare to watching someone like Miyu-chan! It’s like – like-”

“Art,” concludes Tanaka, and she can hear the underlying smile in his tone.

“I get what you were talking about now, believe it! It’s amazing!”

Miyu claims victory against the remaining two, and when they all rise from seiza she bows deeply to the six of them.

“Thank you for honouring me with an interview,” she says, and then focuses on the oldest man in the group.

“It was a privilege to face you, Abe-sama. I’ve studied your games since I was a girl.”

The man levels her with an appraising stare.

“I believe the honour has been ours, to face one who has defeated Makishima four times now.”

Four times, officially. Unofficially, the count is closer to eight, but those games are between Miyu and Makishima and no one else.

“We have not taken kindly to the association’s failure to name you Meijin,” says Fujimori, the only woman on the staff, her brows pinched together.

“Huh?” Naruto butts in again, eyes comically wide, “Meijin? No way, Miyu-chan! You beat the Meijin?”

“Fool,” scowls Hirata, a man who she’d come up against in the previous year’s winter shogi tournament, “she _is_ the Meijin.”

Naruto gasps dramatically, and Miyu has to resist the urge to laugh as the staff sigh in varying levels of exasperation and disappointment.

“Well,” she says with a smile, “not officially.”

“We wrote to the association on multiple occasions,” Tanaka says with a pinched expression, “and we were not graced with a reply.”

Oh, shit. The association was burning bridges alright.

“What?” Naruto’s blunt question is almost yelled, “Why won’t they name Miyu-chan as Meijin? It’s been four years, right?”

Suppressing a smile, Miyu shrugs.

“I am a woman.” She says simply, watching as the five male members on the staff shift uncomfortably. It’s not the whole truth, of course. If she had been highborn, or from a wealthy family, the risk of insulting an important man would probably force the association into extending the correct formalities.

As it had been, living at the Okiya had only been another factor contributing to her very particular status. The thought of her home makes her chest feel impossibly tight again.

“Eh? They can’t be that backwards, surely?”

Silence.

“Where is this association? I’ll go kick their asses for you Miyu-chan, believe it!”

She watches with a carefully poised expression as the staff soften, their fondness for the vibrant young man obvious.

Who _is_ he? He’s not stupid, he’d picked up on the undercurrent of their conversation and he’s read her more easily than most. It’s easy to underestimate him with his boisterous personality, but he’s a ninja who is at least eighteen or nineteen.

He’s surely got skill – he wouldn’t be alive if he didn’t, but she can read intelligence behind his bright blue eyes, see it in his body language – always geared to put people at ease.

They leave as the first class begins to filter into the courtyard. Miyu watches with interest as the small children chatter between each other, bright eyed and innocent in a way that feels very, very far away.

Had she ever been that small? That clueless and carefree?

Her earliest memories smell like stale tatami, look like dark nights without electricity or hot water, feel like terror at her very own monster in the next room over.

Vacant eyes and absent hands and a shogi board on her ceiling.

“You don’t like children?” Naruto asks, and it’s the softest she’s heard him speak.

Miyu shrugs, “I don’t have much experience with them. It’s a little daunting.”

“Nah, I think you’ll be fine. Clan kids are a bit different, they learn to listen and obey from before they can talk most’a the time.”

She hums in acknowledgement and they continue on their way back to her apartment.

“Naruto-san,” Miyu decides to speak up, “would you be so kind as to point me towards a florist?”

“Sure,” he agrees easily, hands behind his head as he looks up at the sky. “There’s this place on the corner, right near a great toxin supplier. Sasuke’s favourite poisons are there, so the owners know me pretty well-”

He talks and Miyu listens. The information he gives her consists of rather random tidbits – nothing too much, but not coming off as untrusting.

Clever.

She wonders absently if one of his parents is a diplomat. It would explain his social adeptness, but not his rather rowdy behaviour.

“Ya know,” Naruto says as they turn on to the street where he claims the florist to be, “you’re nothing like the rumours made you out to be.”

“Oh?” She’d almost forgotten. She cocks her head, and hopes her interest isn’t too apparent. Naruto continues walking, peering up at the clouds.

“Yeah, especially the nastier ones. I’m sure the betting pool is going to be thrown off _big_ time.”

Nasty?

She takes the heads up for what it is and keeps walking, waiting patiently for Naruto to continue. When he makes no move to, she decides to risk it.

“What was the one that made you laugh most?” She keeps her voice perfectly level as she asks.

There’s a moment of distinctly baffled silence.

“There’s one that speculates you’re actually Itachi’s betrothed in disguise, and that you were trying to break the engagement by proving his infidelity, but you fell in love instead and now you’re pregnant with the rightful heir and too afraid to confess, and Itachi’s going to run away with you to a secluded-”

Miyu’s laugh forces its way out of her chest with little warning. She slaps a hand to her mouth, close to tears with the effort it’s taking not to dissolve into helpless giggles.

Naruto is grinning widely at her, turned so he’s walking backwards. His hands are in his pockets now, and he radiates satisfaction.

“It’s nice to see you smile for real,” he huffs out a laugh of his own, and rubs at the back of his neck. “Next time don’t hide your laugh. It’s beautiful, believe it.”

Her face flushes and she looks away from him. He’s too bright, too earnest, and she doesn’t know how to deal with him. Not when the urge to stop hiding herself has stirred and made itself known.

They arrive at their destination and Naruto slips into the store next door as she enters the florist.

She surveys the sunflowers and notes that he’s warned her twice now. About the rumours, and about Itachi’s betrothed – who she realises they’ve very carefully never spoken about.

A razor-sharp blade, disguised by bright colours and loud noises – a ninja trick, obvious and underestimated.

Still, she doesn’t smile as she picks out four separate arrangements. Konoha may be the safest place for her right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s not without its problems.

“Beautiful selections,” comments the florist as they wring her order up.

Miyu smiles politely and says nothing in return. Looking at the flowers _hurt_ , but she makes herself do it anyway. She can’t shy away from her own failures.

As soon as she steps foot out of the store Naruto is there, pulling three of the four out of her hands with a – “Let me, let me!”

Miyu gazes down at the one left in her arms. It’s the one intended for Kikyo. Pretty and subtle, full of potential but not bold or gaudy.

“Naruto-san,” she says softly, “if I could ask just one more favour?”

.

Miyu kneels before the shrine, noting that her latest batch of flowers are faring well. It’s been three weeks since she turned to Naruto and asked if Konoha had a place to honour the dead.

Without comment he led her to the registry office, let her fill out the papers, and then took her to the lot allocated for her in their memorial park.

The small stone plinth is still unmarked, but it apparently takes a few months for the names to be engraved. Death is common in the Hidden Village, and civilians are at the bottom of the social rankings here. Ninja get first preference, and everyone else is put on a waiting list.

The stone she’s been allocated is at the edge of the large, well-kept field. It allows her to feel like she has some privacy, even if that’s the farthest thing from the truth in a village like Konoha.

“I’m home,” she murmurs softly, placing a talisman over Masa’s bouquet.

She bows low, grass tickling at her nose and forehead, and for long moments she stays that way.

When she sits up she can pretend the sheen to her eyes and the redness of her nose is hay fever. Never mind that autumn will soon be turning to winter.

Awkwardly, she clears her throat.

“I, uh-”

She sniffles a little, and then laughs when she thinks about Nanami’s disgusted expression the last time Miyu was sick.

“My class has been good,” she says rather lamely, “I haven’t the faintest why, but they seem eager to impress me. I’ve had to restrict questions to after my lecture, because they ask the strangest things.”

Teaching classes of four and five-year old children has been a consuming experience. But it keeps her busy, gives her a reason to get up in the morning and force herself to sleep at night.

“I have a meeting with the bank to discuss my assets this afternoon, so I can’t stay too long,” she murmurs, letting her fingers skim over the petals intended for Mother.

Itachi is still away, and she wonders when he’ll return. Sakura stops by every couple of days, and the few other times Naruto has dropped by as her chaperone to go sightsee have been like bright spots on a cloudy afternoon.

“I miss you,” she murmurs, and then bows low again and stands. She turns to leave, and gasps only shallowly at the sight of a familiar figure standing much too close.

“Gods,” she steps back, hand over her heart, “a little warning would have been appreciated.”

“Mah, sorry,” Kakashi raises an arm and rubs at the back of his neck. “Forgot.”

Miyu cocks a brow at him, watching as his eyes take in her pink nose and red-rimmed eyes.

“Don’t mind me,” she says, sparing him a small smile, “just busy being human over here.”

His eye crinkles sheepishly, and he shrugs apologetically, “I come with a message.”

Miyu waits patiently for him to elaborate.

“Itachi will be back by the week’s end. He wanted me to let you know.”

Averting her gaze to his vest, Miyu tries to stop her smile.

“Thank you for passing it on.” She hopes her relief isn’t audible.

“I… also want to warn you,” Kakashi’s tone draws her eyes back to what little she can see of his face.

“Is this about the rumours?” she questions dryly, “Because Naruto-san’s already done that.”

He raises his visible brow and shakes his head.

“The clans are aware of your presence in Konoha,” he says lightly, as though they’re discussing the weather, “be prepared for a mixed reception, Miyu-san.”

And then he disappears in a swirl of leaves.

“Right.” She mutters as she begins the walk home. “Not cryptic at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so Naruto = sunshine
> 
> I love him so much and I feel like there's so much more to his talk-no-jutsu than the power of friendship and hope etc etc 
> 
> Naruto is smart okay i'll FIGHT you on this don't test me!!!! (((Miyu will ALSO fight you on this. And yes, she has no idea he's the son of the current hokage... yet)


	8. behind these walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that which we choose to hide can tell so much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> Back again haha thank you all for your feedback and comments, they truly make my day. 
> 
> I know i've been posting weekly, but from here on in I will be changing the update schedule to every fortnight (im going back to work soon so hopefully i can stick to that!)
> 
> Thank you all for coming along for this ride, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Miyu wakes on Saturday morning to the smell of tea and something cooking. Curious, but knowing it can only be one of three people, she gets out of bed to wash her face and brush her teeth.

Still in just the short, light yukata she wears to sleep, she pads out into the main living area.

Itachi is at her stove, and on the island bench is a breakfast spread he’s obviously just about finished preparing.

“You’re home,” she knows he can hear the relief in her tone, but she doesn’t really care. It’s been weeks, and – and –

“I missed you.”

She steps up behind him, wraps her arms around his waist. Her cheek rests between his shoulder blades as she soaks in his warmth.

“I’m back,” he hums, one of his hands sliding to rest atop hers.

They eat breakfast as Miyu fills Itachi in on her role at the shogi school.

“How was your mission?” she asks as they’re cleaning up.

The corner of his mouth tightens imperceptivity. She traces the stiff lines his body makes, the pale tone to his skin, and she can’t shake the notion that he’s somehow _off_.

“Itachi,” her voice is low and soft, “why do I get the feeling something isn’t right?”

His eyes dart to hers for just a moment before he looks away.

“It’s nothing.”

Miyu clenches her jaw for a brief moment before continuing to wipe the bench down.

“If it were nothing,” she keeps him in her peripherals, watching as he starts on the dishes. “I wouldn’t have noticed.”

He huffs out a sound that could be a laugh, and she sees the second his shoulders tense. He’s in pain?

“You notice more than you realise.”

Miyu stares at his back. There are clues, she knows. The glasses, his refusal to get them. The deepening of the tear troughs on his handsome face. The way he goes tense at random intervals, the constant pallor to his skin.

It’s a gamble, but she’s not new to those.

“You’re ill.”

He freezes for half a second, and then continues scrubbing at the pan he’s working on.

It’s almost a confirmation.

“How long has this been going on?” she can’t help the tremor in her tone. This _foolish_ man, gods. As though his line of work isn’t dangerous enough, he –

“I’m fine, Miyu.”

“Don’t lie,” she snaps, making her way around the island before she throws her cloth into the sink. “Not here. Tell me.”

She stares at the side of his face and watches his unreadable expression.

“Itachi,” she steps closer when he looks like he’s going to brush her off again. “Please.”

“A few months.”

Her breath just barely catches in her throat. He acts like he doesn’t hear it as he shuts the tap off and reaches for a tea towel to dry his hands. She watches him do it with imploring eyes, but her mind is racing through the possibilities, the _what_ , the _how_ and most importantly, the _why._

These are the things she knows about Itachi;

He is skilled, respected, has led teams since he was a young teen. As the clan heir of the Uchiha, he’s well-bred and it shows in every word that passes his lips. He loves deeply – this village, his brother, even his teammates.

Selfless and dutiful, Itachi will do what must be done, if only so others don’t have to.

And he is thoughtful, gentle, and kind. With no love for violence or war or conflict.

“You don’t want to fight anymore,” she murmurs, more to herself than Itachi, but his eyes dart to her, glowing red.

“This is – some kind of attempt to be stood down?” she frowns, thinking. “No. Not that, you’re too dutiful.”

She can feel him staring, but her mind is too busy forcing the pieces around the board, looking for the sweet spot that is the resolution.

“Your clan. No, your brother.” She runs a hand through her hair, “If you were to be out of commission, he would fall into the position of clan heir. You… don’t want that for him?”

She turns and paces a little.

“Not that you want it for yourself. But you couldn’t pass it to him in good conscience. The responsibility isn’t something you ever wanted, and you worry what it would do to him-”

She stops, because for the first time she’s watching his face and it’s _all there_.

His confusion, his indecision. The struggle of what he’s putting himself through every day. The knowledge that he can’t go on like this forever. Doubt, and uncertainty, and –

“You brave, selfless man,” she sighs, and then she steps forward and up onto the tips of her toes and pulls him into a tight hug.

He says nothing. Only fists his hands in the back of her yukata and lets his forehead press against the crook of her neck.

“Come on,” she makes to pull away, but his arms only tighten around her. “Just to the couch.”

A blink, the rush of air unsettling her hair, and she’s sitting across his lap, arms still locking him into her embrace.

“This isn’t something you should be shouldering alone,” she murmurs, letting her hands toy with his hair softly.

“It’s not something I wish to burden anyone with,” his voice is coarse, breath tickling at her skin where her yukata has slipped from her shoulder.

“Burden?” The word comes out half a laugh. “Itachi. You’re not the cause of burden between us-”

“Miyu-” he begins to pull away from her.

“Shh,” she lets him, placing her hand at his cheek to look into his dark, troubled eyes. “I trust you. More than just about anyone right now.”

She swipes her thumb along his face, gently tracing a tear trough.

“I’m asking you to trust me, Itachi.” Their faces are so close now. Her nose is tingling from where it’s almost touching his. It’s a parallel to a different time, where the fire cast an odd glow to their faces and the space between them was abuzz with his gentle, warming chakra.

Only now it’s mid-morning within the walls of Konoha. She has to blink the shadows off Itachi’s face, and pull herself back from him a little to stop smelling the smoke of their bonfire.

“Okay.” The word is spoken so softly she almost misses it. If she hadn’t been staring at his lips, she would have. The magnetism between them winds tighter, and slowly she feels herself leaning in.

“Good morning, Mi – oh!”

With a gasp, Miyu jerks back. Itachi saves her from falling onto the floor by pulling her tighter to him for a moment.

Sakura stands in the doorway to the balcony, looking sheepish, but also _intrigued_. Her bright green eyes drink in the sight they make on the couch with a sharpness Miyu knows is deadly. She and Itachi let go of each other at the same time, and Miyu stands quickly, clearing her throat and straightening her robe with steady hands.

“Good morning, Sakura-san,” she greets with a polite smile, “let me fix you up some breakfast.”

“No, no,” she waves her hands before her with a smile, though her eyes don’t leave Itachi’s form on the lounge. “I ate already, thank you. I came to check in on you, but it looks like I’m intruding-”

“Nonsense,” Itachi says, standing and making for the kitchen. He offers Sakura a raised brow as he turns on the kettle and after a moment of hesitation, she steps into the living area and shuts the door behind her.

“Say, Sakura-san,” Miyu begins conversationally as she pulls out some fruit from the fridge. “You’ve been a medic for… was it three years now?”

“Four,” Sakura corrects, taking a seat at the island benchtop.

“Ah, yes,” Miyu slants a look to Itachi in which she imbues her will for him to _trust_ her. “Would you be so kind as to remind me of the patient-confidentiality terms you briefly mentioned a few weeks ago?”

Sakura’s clever eyes dart from Itachi back to Miyu in a heartbeat.

“Of course,” she says, and then recites the terms as though reading them from a textbook. Miyu hums and nods and when Sakura finally reaches the end of them, she puts forward another question.

“So to clarify,” she says pushing a plate of freshly washed berries before Sakura, “if an individual were to come to you in confidence, asking for your help in being discrete, the only other individual you would be compelled to notify would be either the patient’s assigned counsellor, depending on circumstance, or the Hokage?”

“Correct,” Sakura nods, and then lets her gaze slant over to Itachi as she pops a blueberry into her mouth.

The man in question is doing a very good job pretending to be busy pouring three cups of tea.

“In essence,” Miyu smiles at Sakura but is very much talking to Itachi, “nobody needs to know given you are equipped to deal with the situation yourself?”

Sakura isn’t smiling anymore. Instead she’s looking very worried.

“Miyu-san,” she begins, “is everything okay? Would you like to speak in private?”

Miyu blinks, taken aback.

“I can promise you I’ll be discrete,” Sakura says in the small pause that follows.

“Good,” Miyu nods, and then looks to Itachi. He sighs, puts their teacups before them, and then disappears and reappears in a flash.

“Privacy seals,” he says, seemingly for Miyu’s benefit only. But Sakura is looking increasingly blank-faced, and Miyu wonders whether she will be able to help Itachi after all.

“I would like to request a check-up, Sakura-san,” Itachi’s voice is cold, professional. His face is a calm mask, disturbingly polite in contrast to the easy relaxation he’d displayed not five minutes earlier.

“You? A check-up?” Sakura’s eyes haven’t left Miyu’s form.

“Yes.” 

Miyu watches Sakura’s face carefully as she stands and gestures to the lounge. Itachi walks over stiffly, and she feels a pang of guilt for putting him through this.

Sakura sets a hand, green and glowing against Itachi’s back. In the ensuing silence, Miyu sips at her tea and stays in the kitchen, hoping to give them both some distance.

Ten minutes pass. Miyu pads over to her laundry, removes her things from the dryer, and folds them on her bed. She has a shower, changes into a pair of loose, flowing pants and a long-sleeved black turtleneck, and heads out into the living room.

They are still there, so still that she’d be concerned if she couldn’t see the soft movement of their breathing.

Glancing to the clock, she gets to making lunch. Sakura will surely be hungry by the time she’s finished doing whatever she’s doing.

Settling on an easy stir-fry, she lets the sounds of her knife meeting the chopping board create some background noise as she prepares the ingredients, trying to keep her eyes from Sakura as the medic’s brow creases in concentration.

By the time she puts some rice into the cooker, Sakura has begun to pull away.

“You are one of the most _irresponsible_ , bone-headed-”

Sakura sucks in a sharp breath and cuts herself off.

“Would you prefer for Miyu-san to leave the room?” 

Miyu sets the knife down and meets Itachi’s eyes, already turning her body to head to her bedroom.

“No,” his voice is hoarse and she wonders if he’s in pain.

Sakura seems a little taken aback at that, but after a moment she powers on.

“As of forty minutes ago, you were three months out from lung failure.”

Miyu’s hands clench hard in the fabric of her pants, and she has to focus for a long moment on keeping her breaths even.

“Tuberculosis is contagious,” Sakura tells him, and she notes that he doesn’t look surprised.

“Jutsu,” he says, as though that explains anything.

“Itachi,” Sakura’s tone is cold. “You can’t go on missions like this-”

“No one can know,” he doesn’t leave room for any argument.

Sakura’s nostrils flare for a brief moment before she seemingly reigns herself in.

“This will take _weeks_ to treat. What I did today wasn’t sufficient. You’ll need to take medication that may impact your performance-”

“I will make do,” he stands, and Miyu tenses as the air seems to come alive between the two ninja.

“The Hokage must be notified,” Sakura doesn’t sound like she wants to be the one to break this particular news. “I will treat you, but you _need_ to take this seriously, Itachi. Now where the _hell_ do you think you’re going? You think I didn’t notice your eyes?”

Miyu feels a slow smile beginning to form on her face as Itachi takes a seat once more.

“We can meet for your treatment here, given Miyu-san allows it.”

“Of course,” there’s no question about it, “you’re more than welcome to use me as an excuse, both of you.”

Itachi turns his head to meet her eyes. She smiles at him, feeling lighter than she has in weeks. He’s letting them help and the thought that he trusts her enough to let her in on this – something he must have been hiding for months, maybe even years? That small thought keeps a smile on her face for the rest of the day.

.

“Miyu,” Itachi’s smooth voice pulls her from her intense focus. With a slight start she realises she’s been staring at the shogi board set on the coffee table before her for much too long, motionless.

“Hm?” She looks to him, tilting her head curiously. She has to lean around the bulk of the couch a little to see him from her place on the floor. He’s been labouring over his homemade mochi for the better part of the afternoon, but somehow his pale purple apron is spotless. The orange glow to her apartment alerts her that it’s getting close to sunset.

“You just looked… very far away.”

She lets her head fall against the couch, and shrugs. It’s been about a month since her world was turned on its head. Sometimes she’s alright. Other times. Well, other times she’s _not_.

But Miyu’s done this before. Left one life behind for another – three times now. The thought of it happening again makes her feel ill. Trapped in endless games with herself, shogi tiles clicking along with memories, dissociating endlessly.

“Hey.”

Itachi’s murmur is soft, and when she blinks away her thoughts she realises he’s crouching right in front of her.

“Why don’t we get a breath of fresh air?”

Miyu nods silently and lets him help her to her feet. They recently bought some outdoor furniture – just a few wooden fixtures to entertain at most five to eight guests.

They take a seat on the bench, and Miyu blinks up at the clear blue sky, tinged orange by the sinking sun. It’s not very cold for a day so close to winter.

“I’ve been thinking,” Itachi begins, settling a hand atop hers in her lap.

“Should I be worried?” She raises a brow and feels her lips twitching as he tilts his head in question.

“Most things come so effortlessly to you,” she huffs in mock annoyance, “if you have to think about it, it’s probably serious.”

Itachi gives her a small smile, but doesn’t retort.

“Oh no,” she smiles and hopes her anxiety doesn’t shine through. “What is it?”

He pauses for a moment, and then turns more of his body to face her, both hands atop hers now.

“My clan,” he starts slow, and she wonders if this is when they finally address the elephant in the room. “We are renowned for our bloodline limit.”

Miyu waits expectantly. She’d known that.

“The sharingan is most famous for many well-known techniques, but there are a few which are more… subtle.”

His gaze drops to their hands, and she turns her wrists to be able to hold on to him.

“I’ve been testing something new, and yesterday it worked.”

Miyu cocks her head to the side, “Congratulations?”

Itachi flashes a smile and it lights up his solemn face. But it fades fast, and he’s left still staring at their hands.

“That’s not what I’m trying to tell you, Miyu.”

She raises a brow, “Then please do get to the point.”

Itachi raises his eyes to meet hers, searching.

“You told me you’re afraid to forget.”

Miyu stills, barely breathing.

“I just… need you to let me in,” he explains gently, “I’ll remember them with you.”

Remember them?

He would – he would _do_ that?

“How would it work?” Her voice wobbles, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“I’d activate my sharingan, and step into whatever memories you want me to see. I can help remember more than just sight if you can recall it.”

Miyu hopes her lip isn’t trembling.

“And would you have that memory of them forever?”

He nods once, slowly.

“Forever.”

Miyu shuts her eyes and lets herself think.

“You would do this for me?” she feels him squeeze her hands, and she squeezes back.

“I wouldn’t offer otherwise,” his voice hints at something deeper. She can’t focus on that exactly right now.

“When?” she chokes out, because she’s hoping he’ll say _now,_ but at the same time she wants him to say _two years_. It’s going to hurt, but she should do it while it’s fresh.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

She takes another deep breath, squeezing his hands again. They’re warm, calloused, steady. Thinks about the Okiya, about what it meant to her and how desperately she wants to cling to its memory.

Slowly, she opens her eyes and meets his.

“Ready.”

Miyu watches as his dark eyes fill with swirls of red, until she’s staring at his sharingan. It’s beautiful.

“Here we go,” he murmurs, and the ground seems to drop from beneath her. She doesn’t fall, though. Can’t, with his hands holding hers so warmly.

-

She’s twelve, shaking and scared as she stands beside the men who are here to sell her. There’s a woman wearing glasses in the doorway before them, assessing her with sharp eyes. The collar around her neck chafes and she winces as one of the men tug on the attached chain.

“How old?” The woman asks, eyes flitting to the man on the left.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, “little bitch wouldn’t say a word.”

The woman sighs and raises a brow as her eyes land on Miyu’s split lip, “You damaged your merchandise? Unusual. You’re usually more careful.”

“She got in the way,” the one on the right spits, “and she doesn’t _listen_.”

The woman’s eyes snap to him and Miyu knows he’s made an error.

“Unruly, then. Well, I won’t pay eight thousand ryo for a brat that can’t take instructions.”

“Come now, Suzume-hime,” the man on the left is smiling but it rings false, “we saved her especially for you. All the whorehouses wanted her, ya know? But we knew you liked the pretty, quiet ones and-”

“Six thousand,” she deadpans, interrupting his spiel.

“Six?” The man on the right is scowling, “We hauled this bitch halfway across the country, you’re dreaming. Eight thousand or we walk away.”

“You think a whorehouse would pay eight thousand for a skinny young thing like her?” The woman – Suzume-hime, they called her – laughs, but it’s not a nice sound.

The men are silent. The most the whorehouses had paid for her collared companions had been five thousand.

“Six.” The woman says firmly.

“Seven,” demands the man on the left.

“Six and a half, last offer.” The woman shoots back, frowning.

There’s a tense minute of silence, and then finally the man on the left says, “Sold. Here,” he hands the leash to the woman and gives Miyu a shove in the back.

Staggering closer to the woman, Miyu wonders how the hell it came to _this_.

They exchange the cash, and Miyu tries to see inside the traditional door. The woman ends up leading her there, orders her to take her shoes off, and has her strip in the doorway until she’s only in her underwear. The collar gets removed and Miyu winces as it pulls away, sticky with her sweat.

“Hmm. Potential,” the lady says to herself, procuring a pipe and lighting it with a match taken from a box in her pocket.

“What’s your name, girl?”

Miyu swallows dryly and tries to think this through.

“What is this place?” She asks instead of answering the question. 

The woman quirks a think brow at her.

“An Okiya,” she says dryly, “you will address me as Mother. You will listen to everything, do as you are told, and I will make you the best geisha there is.”

Geisha. Ah.

Miyu forces her hands to stop fidgeting and clenches them at her sides.

“I am Sugawara Miyu,” she says, voice somehow steady, “and I won’t be a geisha.”

The woman’s other brow rises, and her mock surprise is accompanied by a short, sharp laugh.

“Oh?” She takes a puff from her pipe and exhales into the entrance way.

Miyu frowns through the cloud of smoke and nods.

“If you won’t be a geisha, little Miyu, what will you be?”

Her shoulders are stiff, and she ignores that she’s dirty and sore and tired and alone as she declares, “I will be the best shogi player in the world.”

The woman’s expression doesn’t change, but Miyu can feel her mild amusement.

“We’ll see.”

-

There’s a girl standing before her. Miyu freezes, halfway out of the bath because she hadn’t knocked or anything-

“Who’re you?” Asks the girl bluntly.

“Miyu,” she replies automatically, “who are you? And don’t you know how to knock?”

“I’m Nanami,” she states as though Miyu should already _know_. “I’m here to have a bath, genius.” 

Miyu watches as she steps into the room and shuts the door behind her.

“Mother must’ve hired you to be my assistant.”

The girl looks to only be one or two years older than Miyu, so her superior tone doesn’t make sense. 

“Well, good. My hair’s getting so long, it’s such a chore to wash.”

Miyu blinks as the girl strips and climbs into the tub with her.

“Are you just going to sit there or are you going to _help_ me, Miyu?” Her mouth shapes Miyu’s name like it’s a swear word.

More surprised than anything, Miyu picks up the small bucket floating in the bath, scoops a hefty amount of steaming water into it, and when Nanami is busy turning her nose up and inspecting her nails, dumps it over the older girl’s head.

The chaos that ensues makes Miyu laugh for the first time in weeks.

Mother makes them dress, still half wet, and clean the entire bathroom. Then they kneel at the back door, damp and sulking, as Mother lectures them on being proper ladies.

That night, they have rice, miso soup, and grilled fish. Mother crunches into her pickles with abandon, and just as Miyu thinks she can’t take it anymore she locks eyes with Nanami over the table.

Another loud crunch, and the teen’s brow twitches. Miyu suddenly has to repress the urge to laugh and tries to hold her breath to achieve the seemingly impossible feat. Nanami’s own lips press together hard as she watches Miyu’s face get steadily redder, until there’s another knock on the door and Mother leaves the room.

They dissolve into cackles that leave Masa perplexed, and Nanami snatches up a pickle and munches on it in mockery of their caretaker.

Miyu laughs hard enough to cry and blames it on her traumatic journey when Mother returns and asks why she’s blabbering. Nanami can’t stop her laughter and they both get sent to bed.

“Hey, Miyu?” Nanami turns to her, pretty face still glowing with their shared mirth.

“Yes, Nanami-san?” She asks, sniffling because she really had been crying just five minutes before.

“You’re not so bad. Just know I’m not going to go easy on you, I’ll be the one adopted in ten years.”

“But… I don’t want to be adopted?” Miyu cocks her head as they ascent the staircase.

“Really?” Nanami looks sceptical. “What _do_ you want?”

Miyu smiles at her as they reach her floor and says with unwavering certainty, “To play shogi.”

-

“Why’re you scowling?” Miyu asks, looking up from the pamphlet detailing this year’s national shogi tournament.

Nanami has been sitting in the office with her, frowning down at the desk between them with enough malice to set it alight.

“Mother’s bringing in another girl. Some Kikoko or whatever.”

Miyu sighs, “You’re turning eighteen. You’ve made a successful debut. She probably wants you to train up a maiko so you have a successor when you inherit.”

Nanami gives her a narrow-eyed stare, but as she opens her mouth to retort the office door opens. Mother is standing there, a young girl at her side.

Miyu takes in the neat little yukata and small smile and realises they don’t share their method of arrival.

“This is Kikyo,” Mother gently pushes the child into the room by her shoulders.

“Hello,” the girl chirps, bowing first to Nanami and then to Miyu. “It is an honour to meet you!”

Nanami’s face has smoothed into a careful calm that has Miyu immediately on edge.

“How old are you, Kikyo-chan?” She asks in a voice too soft to be anything but practiced.

“Nine!” Smiles the child, and Miyu watches Nanami’s side profile warily. She’s young, sure. But that doesn’t warrant Nanami’s sudden stillness. She watches as the geisha’s eyes flit up to meet Mother’s. They remain locked in a silent stare-off for long enough that Miyu clears her throat and stands from her place behind the desk.

“Come now, Kikyo-chan,” she smiles, “I’ll show you around. I’m Miyu.”

“Thank you very much, Miyu-san!” The girl follows her rather like a little duckling. As Miyu takes her on a tour of the building.

“Wow, you know so much about the Okiya,” Kikyo is staring in awe at the gardens. “How long have you been here?”

Miyu lets herself take in the brightness of this little girl, and replies, “Four years.”

“Wow! I can’t wait to train under Nanami-san-”

And she chatters the afternoon away. Miyu indulges her, and can only wish her well under Nanami’s tutelage.

-

When Miyu opens her eyes it takes her a moment to realise she’s looking at Itachi.

“Are you okay?” His hand comes up to feel at her face, concerned eyes dark once more. His thumb swipes at her cheek and she realises he's wiping at a tear.

She nods absently, thinking of how small Kikyo had been, of how much she’d _loved_ Nanami despite their near constant banter.

“I wish you got to meet them,” she tells him, throat feeling too tight. “For real.”

Itachi only looks at her with his dark, soft eyes.

“So, pickles?” He murmurs after a moment’s quiet.

She can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up and out, and knows he’s picturing Nanami’s twitching brow and their moment in the staircase.

“Thank you,” her voice is thick but her chest feels light. “This – it’s everything, Itachi. Thank you.”

He’s smiling when she looks back to him, so handsome in the golden light of sunset that her breath catches in her throat.

“I will share your memories,” he says, and she’s suddenly aware of how close their faces are. “The good and the bad. I… want to share your present, Miyu. Your present, your future-”

“Miyu-chan!”

Miyu startles at the sound of Shisui’s voice, accompanied by his very sudden appearance on the railing of her balcony. When she looks back to Itachi he’s glaring so hard at his clansman that she worries for his safety.

“Shisui-san,” she greets with a smile, “what a surprise.”

And because she has genuine concerns that Itachi’s glare will set him alight, she stands and gestures for him to join them inside.

“Tea? Itachi’s just made some mochi.”

Shisui grins, his windswept curls bouncing as he steps onto the tiles of her balcony as Miyu turns to open the door.

“Yes please, Miyu-chan! Beautiful day, isn’t-”

His voice cuts off and when she spins around it’s only Itachi standing there, innocently blinking back at her. Did he just… _throw_ Shisui off her balcony?

“Itachi, what-”

“That was mean!” Shisui’s voice appears almost before he does. As it is, Miyu still jumps, hand over her heart, because he’s occupying space that had been empty just a second ago and –

“Why are you covered in…” she cocks her head to the side and peers a little closer, “bugs?”

“What?” Shisui yelps, making to swat his arm, and then freezing. “You just _had_ to aim for an Aburame, didn’t you?”

And then he disappears.

Miyu runs a hand through her hair and tries to piece together their brief exchange.

“He really gets under your skin like no one else, huh?” she hums to Itachi, watching the skyline of Konoha as the sun dips below the horizon.

Itachi only gives her an impassive stare. It makes her smile anyway.

.

“-so anyway, we got to Suna and this old lady went to kill Kakashi, believe it! Sasuke almost attacked her, but then Gaara-”

Miyu lets herself get lost in Naruto’s energy. He’s definitely loud enough to be heard over the other patrons at the barbecue place they’re in. He sits opposite her, with Sakura to his left, and Sasuke on the end of the table. Next to Miyu is a quiet man with dark brown hair and eyes who had introduced himself as Yamato. To her left is Itachi, and opposite him sits Kakashi.

Miyu is no ninja, but she can feel the stares that their group is attracting– though she can’t tell whether they’re watching the group as a whole, or just her.

Regardless, she knows they’ll be watching any interaction between she and Itachi closely. So she keeps herself level and doesn’t touch him, doesn’t smile at him any more than the others on the table. Miyu doesn’t miss that Itachi is doing the exact same thing.

A small part of her wonders if this is how it always has to be. He is the clan heir, and she is – well. She’s no one.

The thought is sobering, but she keeps her smile on her face as Naruto continues his story telling. Dinner on this scale is rare, according to Sakura. Usually, one or more of them is out of the village, and though she doesn’t say it overtly her eyes flicker to Itachi and she notes that he must be a new addition to this team seven dinner.

Miyu doesn’t know whether to be glad that they’re an intimidating group of people, or bemoan the attention they seem to draw. Surely she would be able to fade into the background if she came alone? But as Naruto beams at her and Kakashi slants her an amused look, she thinks the company might just be worth the trouble.

“Let’s go get dessert! Race you there, Sasuke!” and Naruto and Sasuke disappear in a flash.

“So,” Sakura falls into step beside Miyu and links their arms, “how did class go this morning?”

Miyu nods in thanks to their host as they file out of the restaurant.

“It was… interesting,” she says amusedly, “one of my students threw a particularly well-aimed tile at their classmate, but aside from that it went smoothly.”

“How’d you handle it?” Sakura smirks.

“Well,” Miyu lets her eyes trail over the broad backs lined up before her. Itachi, Kakashi, and Yamato make for three finely sculpted specimens. “The one who received a black eye was being rather… inflammatory. Talking of how girls shouldn’t play shogi, or even be ninja.”

Sakura cocks a brow, “Must’ve been a merchant kid.”

Miyu smiles, “Clan, actually. Took me a little by surprise if I’m honest.” Because the child hadn’t been a Hyuuga or an Uchiha, as she would have expected. Instead, a little Nara boy had boredly stated his opinion as though it were fact.

Sakura lets her head fall back as she looks up at the night sky. “I hate that the only respect I earnt was on the back of my perceived strength.”

Miyu watches her downy lashes as she blinks slowly, and wants to memorise the exact shade of green of her eyes under the lantern light.

“You’re lucky to have been born in Konoha,” if there’s a wistful hum to her tone, Miyu doesn’t try too hard to check it. “Most of my life has been spent trying to prove I’m worth the time it takes to play a game.”

She remembers a time before shogi. Dark days spent hunched around her grumbling stomach, weak and dizzy as she watched her father eat what little food they had. Lessons where she struggled to peer at the board through hazy eyes because she’d only had a tiny thermos of tea for lunch.

Desperately trying to get home before nightfall lest she be dragged into an alleyway or snatched by slavers with no one to come looking for her, a forgotten casualty of the cracks she grew up in.

“Konoha is better than most,” Sakura sighs, “but many people still try and force women into domestic roles, and female ninja often get pushed into the role of a medic.” Sakura lowers her gaze to street level once more.

“I wonder how different my life might’ve been if I were born a boy,” Miyu murmurs, eyes scanning the vibrant streets of Konoha.

“Don’t we all?” Sakura chuckles in agreement as they finally reach the dango vendor. Sasuke is already holding cups and a takeaway thermos of what must be tea, and Naruto is holding a small mountain of boxes.

“Don’t you two even _think_ about racing to the Hokage Monument with all that precious cargo!” snaps Sakura, and the two of them jerk to attention.

“Aw, Sakura!” Naruto’s whine is loud, “It’s no fun without the challenge-”

“I will _end_ you,” she deadpans, and Yamato chuckles as Naruto pouts.

“Exactly, idiot,” Sasuke sounds smug.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you shifting those cups to make hand signs,” Sakura’s tone is dry, and Sasuke blanches as he shares a guilty look with Naruto.

Then the pink-haired ninja turns to Miyu, sweeps her off her feet effortlessly, and then they’re _moving._ Miyu doesn’t yelp, but her arms go around Sakura’s neck as they end up blurring along the rooftops, and then – oh gods –

Sakura runs straight _up_ the rock face of the Hokage Monument.

“ _Sakura-san!_ ” Miyu squeaks, screwing her eyes shut.

“What? Oh!” The sound of her laughter makes Miyu want to _cry,_ because they’re completely horizontal and up way too high.

“Sorry,” they come to a stop but Miyu doesn’t open her eyes, “forget sometimes.”

“That was rather mean, Sakura-chan,” Kakashi sounds amused, and Miyu is loathe to witness his lone smug eye so she keeps her own shut.

“I’m sorry,” she says again to Miyu, setting her legs down.

“It’s alright,” she feels rather faint, “thank you for the ride.”

She opens her eyes to the sight of Konoha, lantern-lit and beautiful under the light of the moon. They’re standing atop the cliff, much too close to the edge of it if Miyu is honest.

Slowly, as the sounds of Naruto and Sasuke’s bickering gets closer, she edges down until she’s sitting. She eyes the cliff’s edge warily and tries to ignore the swoop of her stomach when she thinks about being _on_ the face of it just moments ago.

“You alright?” Kakashi crouches beside her, still seeming much too amused at her expense. Behind them Sakura is yelling at Naruto and Sasuke for racing ahead anyway.

“Fine,” Miyu hopes she doesn’t look as scared as she feels. These people could jump from this height and be fine, but her? Miyu would _fall_ , and Miyu would go _splat_.

“You don’t look fine,” he reaches out and brushes the backs of his fingers against her forehead.

“Just contemplating my fragile mortality,” she knows her voice is too high and though her hands are hidden as they clench in her sleeves, Miyu gets the feeling that he knows just _how_ not okay she is.

He huffs out a laugh, and she can feel his eye on her as she focuses on the horizon and tries not to think about what would happen if a strong gust of wind were to hurtle past.

“You know we wouldn’t let anything happen to you, right?” His voice is low and casual, clearly for her ears only.

“Hm,” she doesn’t trust her traitorous voice right now.

Kakashi huffs out a laugh and it’s a nice sound. Miyu lets herself glance to him. The moonlight makes his pale hair shine silver, and the grey of his visible eye is cast in shadows. For a fleeting moment she wonders what he truly looks like.

“Miyu?”

Itachi appears crouching on her right in a heartbeat. She starts and almost falls backwards, but Kakashi’s hand darts out and steadies her by the shoulder.

“See?” He lets go of her too quickly, snatching his hand back as though she’s burnt him, but continues talking, “We’d catch you if you fell.”

And then he stands and lopes over to where Yamato is handing out cups of tea. Miyu shifts her gaze onto Itachi, whose dark eyes are focused on Kakashi’s back. His expression is unreadable.

“All good,” she says, glad that her voice has gained some semblance of normalcy.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out to settle one of his hands over hers, and she knows he’s apologising for more than her trip up the side of a literal cliff.

“I understand,” she hums because she really does. He’s the Uchiha clan heir. And she’s - well, she’s no one. There are more eyes and ears in Konoha focused on their every interaction than she could ever guess. It’s not surprising that he must keep his distance.

He opens his mouth to say something more, brows pinched together just slightly, but Naruto interrupts him.

“Here, Miyu-chan!” the blonde pushes a few takeaway boxes onto her lap, and she hurries to steady them. Sasuke is suddenly just behind Naruto’s shoulder, handing Itachi two steaming cups of tea.

“Thank you,” she smiles up at them and Naruto gives her a huge beaming grin. Sasuke only inclines his chin a little, eyeing his brother’s face intensely before they both turn to head back to Sakura.

Miyu accepts the cup that Itachi extends to her and he alleviates some of the boxes on her lap. For a few moments they just eat dango and sip at their tea, looking out over the village. Miyu remembers another night at a festival not so long ago. The hum of the generator beneath her, the bustle of the crowds, the crackle of fireworks, and Itachi. Silent and calm beside her.

She wonders where she would be right now if Sasuke hadn’t come when he did. Homeless? Caught and murdered? Living on the run, again? There’s no telling what her future would have been. Part of her hates that she had to rely on anyone other than herself. But another, smaller part, is glad that she hadn’t been alone. Isn’t alone, even now.

“You’re so very far away, aren’t you?” Itachi’s soft voice is barely audible.

“Only for a moment,” she sighs, letting her head tip back to look up at the night sky. “I’m just...” She wants to reach out and hold his hand, but she won’t. Not outside the relative privacy of her apartment.

“I wonder where I’d be right now without you,” her voice is barely above a whisper, and her loose hair whips lightly in the cool breeze. Itachi doesn’t have an answer for her, but she hadn’t said it expecting a response.

“Thank you,” she says, face still tilted at the sky, “for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Miyu.”

She shifts her gaze to him, watching as he reaches for her and then stops. His hand hovers close enough to her face that she can feel the heat radiating from his skin. And then he draws back, eyes remorseful.

“Don’t,” his gaze won’t let her look away. “I’ve brought you in to… something else entirely. Konoha is safe, but it’s not-” he cuts himself off. “I’m sorry.”

“You apologise,” she says, feeling a small smile edge on to her face, “and yet I’m living safe, in your village. I have steady work, more respect from others than I know what to do with, and, well-” _you_.

She leaves that unspoken, but if the way his eyes soften is any indication, he understands.

A little further along the cliff top Sasuke and Naruto are engaged in some kind of competition involving handstands and dango eating. Sakura’s laugher drifts over along with Yamato’s dry commentary and Miyu wonders whether this is the first night in months she doesn’t feel crushed by her grief. She shifts her gaze back to the skyline, and takes in the glow of the village before them.

“The world is pretty beautiful, hey?” she sighs, downing the last of her tea.

She can feel Itachi’s gaze on the side of her face as he murmurs, “So beautiful.”

Hoping her blush can be passed off by the slight chill in the breeze, Miyu doesn’t look to him. How could she _not_ kiss him if she did? Every muscle in her body is screaming at her to turn, to tilt, to bring their lips together in a touch that she’s been anticipating for months.

Instead she takes in a few deep breaths of the crisp air and shuts her eyes as her hair is tugged by the wind, a few stray strands tickling at her face. They sit together in comfortable silence, and Miyu is able to resist the urge to lean into Itachi’s warmth.

“I’ll take you home,” Kakashi’s voice sounds from behind them, and Miyu doesn’t jump only because he’d made his footsteps audible.

“Thank you, Kakashi-san,” Miyu says as she pushes herself to her feet. One glimpse over the edge of the cliff has her white-faced and feeling unsteady, and she almost stumbles back into Kakashi’s chest.

“It’s not a worry,” he says, and then scoops her into his arms easily. She only squeaks a little, because he’s taller than her and now she can see even _further_ down the side of the cliff.

“Close your eyes,” Itachi instructs softly from where he’s standing just before her now. “I’ll see you later.”

Miyu nods, offers a shaky smile, and shuts her eyes. Her hands fist in the fabric of Kakashi’s vest as he _jumps_ -

The short scream escapes her despite her best efforts. Because Miyu’s always had a very vivid imagination, and her mind rather unhelpfully supplies an image of exactly what it would look like if her eyes were open.

The rushing wind stops, and Miyu takes a moment to catch her breath, eyes still screwed shut.

“Sorry,” she manages to get out, unable to pull her hands away from his vest just yet.

“It’s fine,” Kakashi’s smile is in his tone, “I love having my eardrums subjected to piercing screams over short distances.”

“Psh,” Miyu can’t help her half-scoff, smiling even with her eyes shut, “it was hardly loud!”

“The wind carried it over,” Kakashi sighs mournfully now, “I’m sure my left eardrum is perforated.”

Miyu really does laugh then, finally managing to unclench her hands and open her eyes. They’re moving across the rooftops at a more sedate pace than she’s used to, and for a moment all she does is admire the view.

“I’m sure Sakura-san will take a look at it for you,” Miyu says with mock sympathy, tilting her face to look up at him. Kakashi is looking ahead, but this angle and her proximity allow her a closer look at the sharp outline of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, even the shape of his lips. Again, she wonders what his face looks like, and decides after only a moment that it’s none of her business.

They touch down on her balcony ten minutes after leaving the monument, and for a moment Kakashi lingers.

“Come inside for tea?” Miyu asks as she opens the door, and Kakashi takes half a step forward before he hesitates.

“Ah, no thank you. I should get going.”

Miyu bows neatly to him and smiles, “Thank you for bringing me home, Kakashi-san.”

He stares at her impassively for a few seconds before he gives a little wave and jumps away. Yawning, Miyu steps inside and locks the door behind her, though now that she thinks about it, she doubts a lock will provide much security in a ninja village.

She walks into the kitchen and goes about making herself a cup of tea. A slight breeze from her open window over the kitchen sink sends goosebumps along her arms, but as she steps towards it to shut it, she hears a voice – faint, but familiar.

Straining, she shuts her eyes and listens.

“A civilian? Really, Itachi?”

Kakashi. He must be on the roof, or near enough to it.

“I don’t see how this concerns you.”

Itachi’s voice is flat, defensive.

“Oh, don’t mind me. Lost most people I’ve loved, and they were all trained ninja.” The sarcasm is so thick she almost cringes. “But go ahead, be with a civilian.”

There’s a brief pause, and she gets the feeling Itachi is shifting uncomfortably.

“She’s different, Kakashi.”

“She’s _fragile_.” The response is patronising. “Don’t act like you can’t see it. One slip and she’s _gone-_ ”

“You’re being unnecessarily cruel.” Itachi’s voice is raised and it makes Miyu instantly cautious. Kakashi has struck a nerve, there’s no denying it.

“I’m being realistic.” The older man drawls, sounding bored. “Others don’t want to tell you the truth, and for most of your life you’ve hated that.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Kakashi continues, “I thought you liked how upfront I am.”

She catches Itachi’s sigh, and then his murmured, “Not regarding this.”

Kakashi laughs, short and bitter.

“What, your anxiety can’t handle the thought of her falling down the stairs or being collateral in an unfortunate accident?”

“Kakashi-”

“Feel like inviting that clan curse people are always talking about?”

“Miyu is-”

“Is it really worth it just to get your dick wet?”

“ _Enough_.” Itachi’s voice is loud enough she thinks she might have heard it even if the window was shut. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

Another few tense moments of silence.

“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Miyu turns and continues preparing her tea as she mulls over their conversation. Kakashi isn’t shallow enough to think Itachi is around her for the sex, right? They haven’t even _kissed_ , let alone –

She sighs and rubs at her temples, trying not to think about it. It’ll just get her worked up and she really wants to sleep without the sound of clinking shogi tiles tonight.

Miyu retires to the couch, gaze drawn to the board sitting on the coffee table. The corner of her mouth twitches down hard as she takes in the silence of her apartment. In the dark, without the warmth of Itachi at her side or the bickering of team seven at her back, Miyu is alone.

Miyu _feels_ alone.

She misses the Okiya fiercely then, the sound of Masa puttering about the kitchen, Kikyo’s laughter in the halls, Nanami’s afternoon harp.

If she shuts her eyes she might be able to pretend they’re here with her. But she knows doing that will push her past a point of no return. So she sits, heart hurting, and misses them.

When she finally does sleep, it’s to the unsettling quiet. She thinks maybe the tiles wouldn’t have been so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... sakura definitely thought miyu was going to come to her for a very different medical reason that would require confidentiality... hahaha
> 
> also, there's going to be a bit more insight to the konoha gossip mill coming up within the next few chapters
> 
> Thank you for reading, next chapter will be up in 2 weeks!


	9. don't forget to breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a series of chances align perfectly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! 
> 
> thank you for being patient with me - work is back and boy is it hectic already. 
> 
> I know it's only tuesday, but this was ready so I thought I would post a day early for you special people
> 
> thank you to everyone that has left a comment, a kudos, or a bookmark - I really appreciate your support!
> 
> enjoy!

Miyu enters her apartment, arms laden with presents. One of the instructors had let slip that it's her birthday on Sunday – December seventeenth – and the children had brought her gifts.

Some of them were obviously hand-made – cards and fans and drawings. Others, gifts from their clans – the Nara boy brings her a board with his clan symbol etched into the base, and a Hyuuga child had brought her a finely crafted hair pin.

The instructors had arranged for every child from both her four-year-old and five-year-old class to paint a shogi piece or two, and have gifted her a mismatched set of pieces. She sets the presents atop her island bench as she gets to making dinner.

Once the rice is in the cooker and her miso soup is on the stove, she lets herself go through the gifts. Some clans have sent sweets, others expensive tea, and a merchant child has even brought her a pretty winter-themed ceremonial teacup set.

But it’s the painted shogi pieces on the standard board that draws her attention most. She walks over to the suspended shelves in the lounge area that line the wall opposite her kitchen. Beside a neat row of books, she sets the gift down, standing up the painted pieces in their allotted squares.

Then she steps back and takes it in. It looks like a rather colourful piece of art. It makes Miyu think of Nanami’s dresser, topped with silly, cheap festival gifts.

All placed carefully, and kept with great care. Smiling, she makes a mental note to go indoor plant shopping. Her apartment is gradually looking more lived in, but some greenery will do it good.

After dinner she showers and decides to read one of the books Naruto’s been bringing past. Most of them have been decent adventure-based stories, but the one she starts on the couch this time is a ninja romance.

It’s a rather quiet Friday night, but the book makes her laugh for the first few chapters, at least, and she falls asleep with it open in her lap.

She wakes some time later with a jolt. Wincing around the crick in her neck, Miyu peers around her dim apartment. The lamp in the corner is still on, and she yawns as she gets up to turn it off. When she stands she sees something that makes her pause – and then realise _why_ she woke.

The painting – of the crow among the cacti – has fallen. She steps closer, peering at it tiredly. The frame is cracked, and the picture is standing, tilted, against the wall. As though its fastenings had all broken all at once.

She looks back to the wall where it had been hanging, and notices that it’s unblemished. Not a hook or fastener in sight, not even a chip in the paint. _What?_

Crouching beside the paining, Miyu tilts it forward to search the back of it for any glue or – _oh_. It comes back to her in a rush – chakra. Itachi had stuck it to the wall with _chakra_ , of course there’d be no fastenings. For a moment she’s relieved that she figured it out.

And then she begins to worry. Because it _has_ come unstuck. She doubts it’s from proximity – Itachi’s away on a mission, but he’s been away before. Kneeling on the floor besides the painting, Miyu wracks her brain for everything she can remember about chakra.

It’s the lifeblood of the ninja arts. Each person has a unique signature and varying quantities of it. It is required when performing techniques, but can also be used to enhance the senses and strengthen the body in general. All living beings have chakra in some form, but it’s ninja, and sometimes samurai, who are trained to use it – and often have pathways better forged from good breeding and early training.

What would make _this_ chakra disappear?

There’s definitely a possibility of Itachi being too far away. He’s only been gone a few days this time, but at the speed he can travel he could be halfway across the elemental nations by now.

He could be using it all in a fight? If that’s how chakra _works?_

She exhales sharply as she pushes to her feet.

There are too many unknowns. If only she’d asked more questions. There’s no excuse not to, she’s been in Konoha for almost two months now. The only other information she knows is that chakra disappears upon death, and that’s not very helpful now-

Miyu freezes.

Looks from the painting to her door. Hopes desperately that she’s _wrong_.

And then she tears out of her apartment, just remembering to slip on a pair of shoes as she goes. _Shit_ , where should she go? As she rushes down the stairwell she tries to think – what are the places she knows?

Her workplace won’t be open – it’s – gods, she doesn’t know _what_ time it is, but she guesses the hours between Friday and Saturday. She knows the general location of the Konoha administrative district, but she’s had no reason to go to that part of the village yet. Even if she did manage to find her way there, who would _listen_?

She’s painfully aware that she’s a civilian, and that she very well might be raising a false alarm. Naruto has pointed out the location of the Uchiha district half a dozen times, but she doubts she’d be granted entry, and if she by some chance is – how the _hell_ was she going to find either Sasuke or Shisui?

The answer comes as she makes it to the ground floor.

There is _one_ place she has memorised along with the clink of shogi tiles and the crushing grief of her first day in Konoha.

Without another thought, she runs. The streets are empty and quiet, but Miyu doesn’t have time to focus on how eerie it is to see the lively village almost deserted.

She concentrates instead on the path through the market district, past the park, beside the northern shopping strip.

Her breath puffs out before her in clouds of white, but she’s not cold. Her blood is surging much too fast for that.

When she finally finds the right apartment block, she very nearly cries with relief on realising she doesn’t need a key to enter the lobby. She makes for the stairs quickly, climbing them two at a time until she’s on the right level.

Finally, she’s at the door, and she can’t help the way her fist trembles as she knocks hard.

The only sound in the dim hallway comes from her – panting hard, shaking enough to set her teeth chattering, banging on the door like a madwoman.

“Ugh, the fuck did he do now?”

The sudden grunt startles her badly enough that she falls onto her ass with a yelp.

“Eh? A civilian?”

She looks right, and sees a man leaning in the doorway of the next apartment over. His hair is a mess of brown waves, and dark stubble lines his jaw and chin. His green eyeliner is smudged, and he’s peering at her through dark, tired eyes.

Miyu opens her mouth to speak, to explain herself, to ask for help, to _something_ – but the door before her suddenly swings open.

“Miyu-san,” Kakashi is standing in the doorway, face mask on but otherwise shirtless and in nothing but boxer shorts, “I suppose you’d like to share why you’re knocking my door down at three-forty-two on a Saturday morning?”

For a moment her mind blanks.

“The painting,” she manages to get out around her panic, “it-it fell, and I don’t know why – but it’s – _he_ put it there, and now-”

“Hold on,” grumbles the neighbour, sighing heavily as he runs a hand down his face, “you came here to talk about a painting? At _three-forty-two_ - _am_?”

“It fell,” Miyu’s mouth is trying to catch up with her racing mind, “he stuck it with chakra and it _fell!_ ”

She turns her gaze back to Kakashi, hoping desperately that he understands. His lone grey eye is taking her in – from her messy untied hair to her home yukata to the mismatched pair of shoes on her feet.

“So it fell,” sighs the neighbour, “fuck me, civilians-”

“Who stuck it?” Kakashi’s voice has lost its dryness, and she almost jerks in place at his intensity.

“Itachi,” she’s breathless as she watches his eye widen briefly, “It happened – oh, I don’t _know_ , about fifteen, twenty minutes ago?”

The neighbour sighs again and Miyu has to blink back tears of frustration.

“He stuck it the second day I got here, Kakashi! It – It’s _never_ once budged since, and when it first fell I had forgotten how it stayed in the first place.”

She’s babbling now, but it’s the only way to get her nearing hysteria under control, “Itachi’s been away so many times since then and it’s never done _this_ , but – and-” it’s getting harder to breathe and her mind keeps showing her the cracked frame, the spotless wall, the absent smile Shisui had given her as he unpacked the bag at her island benchtop-

“Hey, hey-” the brown-haired man crouches before her, eyes serious and sharp – all tiredness from just moments ago _gone_. “Breathe. It’s alright.”

He slants a look at the very still form of Kakashi over his shoulder as Miyu struggles to take in a deep breath, “You’re worried something’s happened to him?”

Miyu nods, blinking through blurry eyes and willing nothing to fall even though they’re brimming with unshed tears.

“Something isn’t right,” her voice is too high, “I – I would have waited otherwise, but I couldn’t – Kakashi-san, I didn’t know where else to _go,_ please-”

“Captain.”

A tiny squeak makes it out of her at the sudden appearance of a masked figure in the hallway.

Neither men say anything. Kakashi only makes a series of rapid hand signs that blur before Miyu’s gaze, and then with a pop the figure disappears.

“Come in.” Kakashi’s tone holds none of his usual teasing. Miyu accepts the extended hand from the neighbour and he pulls her to her feet effortlessly. She’s still trembling, but she can’t tell whether it’s from the cold, or adrenaline, or pure anxiety. Maybe a combination of all three.

“We’ll know the situation soon,” Kakashi tells her as he sets his kettle on, running a hand through his wild hair. A pang of guilt hits her then as she realises she’s woken him up in the middle of the night.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she manages to murmur, shivering, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s alright,” Kakashi pads over to his hallway and re-emerges seconds later with a blanket. Ushering Miyu over to the couch, he drapes it about her shoulders and pushes her gently to sit.

She complies, falling lightly into a spot on the couch beside the sharp-eyed neighbour. Now, with her panic only slightly hindering her, she realises she recognises some of his features.

“My apologies for the disturbance, Nara-san,” her voice is steady as she says it, and for a brief moment she’s thankful for her own training at the Okiya.

_Composure under duress is a fine skill_ , Mother had told her over the slim line of her pipe. Miyu’s never forgotten it.

The man beside her whistles lowly, “Way to make me feel like an asshole. I thought you were Kakashi’s booty call or a scorned lover or something.”

Miyu blinks at him, even as Kakashi sets another blanket around her shoulders. She thanks him quietly and tries not to think too hard about the fact that no one has told her not to worry about Itachi.

“Why would that happen?” Miyu asks next, hoping her face doesn’t reflect how troubled she feels. “It falling, I mean? I don’t know enough about chakra to understand.”

The Nara slants a lazy look at Kakashi before he replies.

“Could be anything, really. Chakra, applied with a technique and meant for long term use is considered latent. It should be fine under any conditions, in theory.”

Miyu tries to keep herself composed and hopes they don’t notice how much worse it makes her anxiety.

“It might be nothing,” Kakashi assures as he pushes a steaming cup of tea into her hands, “but it’s best to be cautious. We’ll have a status report in a few hours.”

Miyu nods, murmurs her thanks again, and sips at the tea. It burns at her tongue and the roof of her mouth, making her eyes water – but she’s grateful that it grounds her.

The thought of losing Itachi makes her feel violently ill. Until now, she thought he was _safe_. He’s a ninja from a prominent clan, and from what she’s gathered he’s strong. Part of her had trusted that he would be a constant, a person in her life that wouldn’t disappear or die.

Swallowing down more of the too-hot tea, she wants to kick herself for her naïveté. He’s _ninja_. Their lives burn hot and bright, but often short. How could she have been so stupid?

“You’re that shogi player, right?”

The neighbour’s voice pulls her from her thoughts. Miyu nods silently.

“Ah, knew I remembered your face. Great performance at the Fire Festival, by the way. Your game with Makishima was brilliant.”

Miyu stiffens at the mention of that day.

“And you really put our esteemed Daimyo on show. I was laughing my ass off the whole time.”

The admission makes her pause.

“Laughing?” She’s glad her voice doesn’t tremble.

“Yeah, it was hilarious to see you dress him down, posturing and all,” he says it with an easy grin that doesn’t sit well with her own memories of that day.

“I overstepped,” her voice is quieter than she meant it to be, “I should have shut my mouth.”

“Nah,” the Nara stretches, and then lets his head fall back against the couch, “you’ve got backbone. We ninja respect that.”

“I made him look weak before foreign dignitaries,” she says, frowning down at her teacup.

“He _is_ weak,” the man scoffs, “and stupid as hell. You handled it well.”

Miyu keeps her eyes on her tea.

“Thank you,” she murmurs after a moment of silence.

“Anytime, uh- Miyu-san, was it?”

At that she looks up, “My apologies, I’ve been terribly rude. I’m Sugawara Miyu, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She offers him a half-bow and a polite smile.

He blinks his tired eyes at her for a moment before he sighs.

“Nara Ensui. Nice to meet you too, though the circumstances could be better.”

Miyu looks back down at her tea again.

“This may sound terrible,” she murmurs, seeing Kakashi take his seat in the armchair to her left in the corner of her eye, “but I hope I’m wasting your time. I hope this is nothing, and that you’ll nickname me painting lady and laugh about me knocking at your door at a ridiculous hour and-”

Miyu cuts herself off and takes another sip of tea.

“Me too,” Kakashi says in his low, deep voice, and she finally turns her head to look at him.

He’s put on a pair of track pants and a shirt, but without his headband he just keeps his left eye closed. From her spot on the couch, she can see the scar that slashes through his eyebrow, down his eyelid – ending somewhere beneath his face mask.

“I suppose the only thing to do now is wait,” Ensui sighs, shutting his eyes.

Miyu sips at her tea and tries not to fidget. The thought of trying to sleep now is laughable.

“Miyu-san,” Kakashi stands and walks to his bookshelf wall, “would you be interested in a game?”

When she looks up he’s holding a shogi set that she hadn’t noticed before. Relieved, and hoping it doesn’t show on her face, she nods. She sets her cup on the coffee table and sits seiza on the floor before it. Kakashi sets the board and the bag of tiles before her and she unpacks, body going through the motions effortlessly.

Kakashi sits on the other side of the table, completely unformal – on his ass with his arm resting on a raised knee.

They play.

Miyu is grateful for the distraction, short as it ends up being.

She watches Kakashi’s face as he gives the board a slow blink.

“Did you really think you’d beat her, Kakashi?” Ensui questions amusedly.

“No,” he responds flatly, “I just didn’t expect to only last twenty-six minutes.”

Ensui snorts at that, and Miyu finds her own lips quirking.

“How about a simultaneous?” Ensui yawns, and with a small pop there’s another shogi board on the coffee table. Miyu cocks her head and looks to Kakashi, brows pinched.

“Do all ninja carry shogi sets on them? Shikamaru-sama had three.”

Kakashi’s the one laughing now, and when her gaze lands on Ensui she’s surprised to see the faintest blush across his cheekbones.

“No,” Kakashi runs a hand through his hair, “it’s not a ninja thing. More of a Nara quirk than anything.”

“Shut up,” grumbles Ensui, taking a seat at the end of the coffee table.

“Do you mind?” he asks Miyu, gesturing to the pouch of tiles. She shakes her head, and he begins to unpack with deft fingers.

Kakashi makes a hand sign and with a pop there’s suddenly _another_ Kakashi standing beside the coffee table. Miyu watches as the other Kakashi collects their mugs, walks to the kitchen, and sets about making more tea.

_Ninja,_ she thinks exasperatedly.

When she returns her attention to the coffee table, both boards have been set up. She makes a few adjustments to her openings and offers her opponents a shallow bow.

“Let’s play.”

They get twenty minutes into the game, Miyu just about to close in on Kakashi again, when both ninja suddenly stiffen. Miyu’s head snaps to Ensui as he mutters, “ _Shit_.”

Kakashi disappears from the room, and in the time it takes Miyu to push to her feet and turn to Ensui, he reappears. He’s decked out in all black gear, with grey body armour that she recognises Itachi as having donned before.

“What’s going on?” she asks, voice much steadier than she feels.

“Classified,” Kakashi says shortly, slipping on his forehead protector and slanting Ensui a meaningful look. And then he disappears without a sound.

Miyu stands for a moment in the silence of his absence, and thinks, _gods, I was right_.

“Hey,” Ensui is standing now, and one of his calloused hands closes over her own. “Kakashi is part of a retrieval squad. That’s all I can tell you.”

Miyu fights the tremble to her lip as she meets Ensui’s dark, sharp gaze.

“I wanted to be wrong,” her breath hitches and his face blurs before her watery eyes. “Ensui-san, I wanted to be _wrong-_ ”

“I know,” he says gravely, seizing her other hand softly, “we must trust in the retrieval team now, and in Itachi’s own abilities.”

Miyu wants to. But the part of her brain that calculates and strategises is screaming for more information, better odds, _anything_ that would help her figure out the final outcome.

“I’ll take you home,” Ensui steps forward and Miyu lets him pick her up, murmuring her address as he does. He jumps from rooftop to rooftop at a reasonable pace, clearing the trip that took her twenty frantic minutes of running in only five.

The Nara sets her on her balcony, and she takes a seat on her cold bench, trying to ground herself.

“Listen,” Ensui is crouched on her balcony railing, “Itachi is one of Konoha’s best. So is Kakashi and the rest of the retrieval squad. You raised an early alarm, if anything _is_ wrong, we’ve taken action early. You took the best possible course of action, Miyu-san.”

She presses her lips together and looks up at him.

“Thank you for your kindness tonight, Nara-san,” her voice is level as she bows to him.

For a moment he just stares at her, eyes shrouded in shadow.

“Try and get some sleep.”

And then he’s gone.

.

Miyu spends the rest of the night cleaning her apartment. It’s the only remedy for her restlessness and she thinks if she were ninja she might be out training. First she pulls an ungodly amount of clothes from her closet, and dumps them in the washing machine before making for the open living area.

She stares at the fallen painting for way too long. In the end, she doesn’t touch it.

Her kitchen unfortunately doesn’t take long to clean, but she busies herself with the rest of the apartment. Sweeping and mopping and scrubbing at non-existent marks to keep her hands busy.

When the washing machine beeps she empties it into the dryer, and then goes and strips her bed before throwing it into the machine too, along with the sheets from her unused guest bedroom.

She sweeps and mops those two rooms, and then gets to work on the rarely used main bathroom. There’s a little more work in that, and she scrubs and scrubs until her hands sting and the room shines with a brand-new feel.

Miyu transfers the clothes from the dryer into a basket and shifts the bedding into the dryer. Then she irons the dry clothes and meticulously folds them. When the dryer chimes, she makes both her bed and the guest bed, and packs all her clean washing.

The balcony is next. Even in the cold, she mops the space, scrubs at the railings, and then focuses on cleaning her large glass sliding doors. The glass only makes her think of her windows, and she tackles them next, wiping down every single one in her apartment.

Last, she gets to work on her ensuite. She cleans and she cleans until the shower is the only thing left.

Miyu turns on the water, steps into it, and lets the spray mask the water that spills from her eyes. Fully clothed, soaking, she cleans the shower until the hot water turns cold and she’s left shivering. Still, she fights the urge to sink to the ground, to sink past the silence of her apartment into a place where nothing can hurt her.

Miyu strips her heavy, wet clothes and forces herself through the motions until she’s clean.

Gets out of the shower, dries herself, and gathers her soaking clothes to take them to the laundry.

Stands naked in the hallway, watching as light filters into the apartment as the sun breaches the horizon.

Miyu dresses, brushes her hair, and then her teeth.

And then she lies on her bed, and stares up at her ceiling, and watches countless tiles flicker before her eyes.

She wonders if, by tonight, shogi will be all she has again.

.

“Miyu.”

She jolts from the trance she’d fallen into, blinking rapidly as her eyes try to adjust to the darkness of the apartment. Finally, a familiar face comes into focus.

“Shisui?” she sits up from where she’d been lying on her couch.

“He’s at the hospital,” Shisui’s voice is absent of any humour or cheer. In the stark shadows his face is serious and terrifyingly still.

“Gods,” Miyu runs a hand through her hair, feeling the panic she’d spent her entire day trying to keep at bay rising. “Is he-”

Her throat closes and she can’t bring herself to ask it, to _confirm_ that –

“Come,” Shisui says it only as a warning, because between one half second and the next she’s in his arms and they’re _moving_. It’s not like anything she’s ever experienced.

Shisui moves so fast that the air seems to rush past before she can inhale. But within seconds they’re inside the hospital, and Shisui only takes one extra second to survey the main lobby before they’re standing somewhere else.

As Miyu blinks the tears from her eyes she thinks it would have been wise to close them. The blobs around her start to take shape as they adjust.

They are in a hallway. Seats line the walls and most of them are occupied. Kakashi is leaning against the far wall, talking quietly with two masked figures. A stern, middle aged man with dark hair and eyes is seated against the row of seats that line the wall. He's frowning down at his hands. Beside him sits a beautiful woman, a crease between her brows as she looks to – Sasuke.

Miyu takes him in – he doesn’t seem to be geared up, dressed only in his casual pants and high-collared shirt. In fact, he looks rather like Miyu must – summoned in the middle of the night to bad news.

His face is pale and drawn and his expression is pinched. But his eyes find her and Shisui and he stands.

“They’re operating now,” he says, and his voice is hoarse. Shisui sets Miyu on her feet but keeps a hold on her arm. She’s grateful, because her legs don’t feel all that steady right now.

“What – Is he-” Miyu stops herself. Tucks her shaking hands into the long sleeves of her yukata, and forces down the anxiety threatening to shake her to pieces.

“Itachi?” She meets Sasuke’s eyes, and knows he sees the desperate need for an answer.

“They’re operating now. I don’t know how much I can tell you-”

“She has the clearance,” Shisui’s voice is low and his grip on her arm tightens incrementally.

She watches them share a heavy look.

“Sakura said you might already know something,” Sasuke’s gaze drops to her again as a slight frown pulls at his brow, “she sent a summons to – to tell me to remind you of confidentiality.”

Miyu’s stomach keeps on sinking. She’s sure the blood has drained from her face by now, and she’s grateful for her practiced, blank expression.

“What we know,” Shisui cuts in, “is that Itachi came up against a combatant that uses airborne poison,” _oh, shit_ , “and he a particularly bad reaction to it.”

Miyu’s mind needs only half a second to catch up. Airborne. He’d – Itachi had – oh _shit._ He’d breathed it in, and his lungs, _gods_ , his lungs that had been months away from terminal shutdown and were just beginning to recover-

Her knees go out from under her and it’s only Shisui’s hold on her arm that keeps her upright. Sasuke’s hand darts out to steady her by the other arm, and suddenly Kakashi is standing in the space to her right, reaching for her.

“Miyu, are you-”

“Fine,” her throat feels too tight and her hands are starting to tremble with the effort it’s taking to keep calm. “Sorry.”

She doesn’t offer any other explanation and Kakashi withdraws his arm, lone eye focused on her face. All she can think about is Itachi, fighting an opponent without the ability to breathe properly. Itachi, in pain and without help. Itachi –

“Who’s this?”

The voice breaks Miyu out of her internal spiral, and she looks left, to see the dark-haired woman standing just behind Sasuke. Closer to her now, Miyu takes in the fine dark blue kimono, and her striking, traditional beauty.

Her long hair is loose but impeccably kept despite the late hour, and she holds herself with an air of importance. Miyu knows who this must be.

Taking just a moment to compose herself, she makes sure her legs are steady before she gently straightens the line of her shoulders. Lightly shaking off the hold of both Shisui and Sasuke, Miyu offers a deep bow to the woman, and upon rising says, “Sugawara Miyu.” In a calm, steady tone.

The woman takes her in and Miyu forces down her embarrassment. She’s in her home yukata – it’s a pretty pale orange, with a mint-green sash, flowers embroidered in white along the hem.

She knows her wavy hair is loose and probably windswept thanks to Shisui, and she’s sure there are bags beneath her eyes from lack of rest. She’s not even wearing _shoes_ , gods, and her feet are clad only in fuzzy yellow winter socks.

Still, she holds herself evenly and lets the woman finish her obvious assessment.

“And you know Itachi?” she sounds uncertain, and Miyu’s sure there’s an insult in her tone somewhere but she doesn’t have the energy to think about it right now.

“Miyu raised the initial alarm,” Shisui speaks up and Miyu is suddenly aware that Sasuke has shifted to face his mother, and that Kakashi has stepped in tighter beside them. Like they’re – flanking her?

“In that case,” says the stern man as he rises from his seat, “as the head of the Uchiha, and the father of Itachi, I thank you.”

He bows to her then.

Miyu steps forward, out of the barrier Sasuke has put between her and these people who must be his parents, and bows back.

His mother opens her mouth to speak, but the door they’re waiting outside opens and through it steps –

“Sakura,” Sasuke’s murmur is ignored as his pink-haired teammate looks to the clan head and his wife.

“We managed to get him stable. You two can come through, but the others will have to wait.”

The clan head and matriarch follow Sakura through the door, and it swings shut behind them soundlessly. For a few moments she stares at it, wondering at the fact that she feels no relief.

She wants to see him, _needs_ to see him. The lump in her throat refuses to budge and her shoulders hold their tension because – because –

“Yo,” Kakashi’s voice is accompanied by his hand, landing lightly atop her head. “I can hear you overthinking from here. Come, sit.”

Miyu should be insulted that he steers her by the head to the row of seats, but as he pushes her to take one, she realises she doesn’t have the energy.

“Tch,” he takes the seat beside her and seizes her chin between his forefinger, tilting her face this way and that. “Did you get _any_ sleep?”

Miyu tries to keep the pout off her face as Sasuke moves to take the seat on her other side.

“Some,” she mumbles, trying to ignore how good his fingers feel against her face. Gods, is she really so touch starved and exhausted that _anything_ sets her off? She meets his eye and hopes he can’t read the uncertainty on her face.

“He’ll be alright. Sakura is one of the best,” Kakashi assures her in his deep, calm tone.

“Hm,” Miyu’s pitch is a little too high and she wrestles with herself to _stop_ thinking about how this night could have ended. Because she had only brought up Itachi’s illness by chance.

Sakura coming by while Itachi was still around, chance. Miyu being on her lounge at three-something in the morning on a Friday night, chance.

The few preliminary healing sessions he’d gone through had almost been not _enough_. The courses of antibiotics he’d been on, from what little Miyu had heard Sakura going on about, had been extreme. Had they interfered with the poison? Made it worse?

What if Miyu had never said anything in the first place, and he had gone there with his terrible lungs and he had died in a terrible way and –

The possibilities blur endlessly, tiles on a limitless board, and –

“Thank you, Miyu,” Sasuke’s low murmur halts her spiralling thoughts. “If it weren’t for you-”

“I should’ve done _more_ ,” if the puzzled look he slants her is any indication, he has no idea what she’s talking about. But she _should_ have pushed for more sessions with Sakura, for him to take leave, for _anything_ –

“You raised the alarm,” Shisui chimes in from where he’s leaning against the wall opposite her. “We were already on our way to him by the time he sent out a distress signal.”

Miyu meets his serious gaze, still desperate to reassure herself that Itachi really is okay.

“By the time we got there-” Shisui cuts himself off and looks away, frowning. “If we had been a minute later, he wouldn’t have made it back.”

Miyu’s pulse jumps, and she exerts considerable effort to stop herself from flinching in response to those words.

“He’s alive right now because of _you_.”

She drops her gaze to her hands, limp in her lap, and tries not to think about how close she’d come to losing everything again.

“I’m going to see if they’ll let me in,” Sasuke says after a moment’s pause. He stands, but before he walks away, he sets a hand on Miyu’s shoulder.

She looks up into his handsome face, takes note of his soft eyes and the genuine half-smile he flashes her.

“He’ll be alright.”

Her eyes sting and she tries to fight back the tremble of her lip as she blinks up at him, and nods.

He leaves, and she gingerly sits back in her seat. Kakashi is sitting beside her, his head leant back against the wall and his lone eye shut. Shisui seems lost in thought, gaze locked on the floor before him.

So they sit, and they wait.

At some point she shuts her heavy eyes for just a second –

“Miyu,” Sasuke’s voice rouses her from dreams of dirty blonde hair and pale green eyes.

“Hm?” she opens her eyes and tries to blink away the spray of blood and the echo of bone deep terror and the sharp ache of loss.

Sasuke is crouching before her, one of his calloused hands sitting lightly atop her own. Miyu’s cheek is resting on – _oh_. She sits up slowly, noting with embarrassment that Kakashi is very awake, and just moments ago she had been very asleep. On _him_.

“Sorry,” she says to the grey-haired man. He only gives her the slight crinkle of his eye indicating a smile, so she doesn’t follow up with further apologies.

“You can see him now,” Sasuke says, standing.

Miyu stands too quickly and has to blink away the black spots that dance before her eyes, but falls into step behind him anyway. They step through the door, go down another corridor, and turn left. And then they’re standing before an open door. Sasuke nods to it shortly, and Miyu suddenly feels ill with anxiety. Still, she steels herself and enters. 

Itachi is lying unconscious on the lone bed, pale and still.

Miyu stops short of him, and takes in his form, relishing in the constant beep of his heart monitor. Slowly, she makes for his bedside, reaching her hand out to touch his face and make sure he’s really there.

The tear troughs under his eyes are deep and dark, and his jaw and throat look bruised. She can see bandages that peek over the edge of his hospital gown, but the rest of him is under the blanket. His hair is loose, set neatly on his pillow.

Her fingers skim lightly over his dark locks, and she so greedily wishes he would open his eyes for her. Sasuke is gone, and as far as she can tell it's just the two of them.

Miyu leans down until her lips brush against his forehead in a feather-light touch. And then she lowers herself into the chair at his bedside without taking her eyes from his face.

Tentatively, she reaches out and sets her hand over his. Hers looks small and fragile in comparison. No scars mar her flesh, and no callouses indicate hard ninja training. For a moment she is ashamed of her softness. She starts to lift her hand, and then freezes when Itachi’s fingers twitch ever so slightly.

Miyu holds her breath, arm muscles engaged to _move_ – but finds that she can’t. The thought of being away from him right now hurts. So she slips her hand under his until they’re palm-to-palm, rests her forehead against the back of his hand, and keeps breathing.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut and thanking the odds of the universe for letting him live.

“Sugawara-san, was it?”

The voice startles Miyu upright again, and for a second all she can do is blink through the tears she hadn’t realised were gathered until her vision becomes less blurry.

The Uchiha clan head is standing at the foot of his son’s bed, and she watches as his gaze flickers down to their hands for half a second. She can't read his stony face.

Still, she can’t force herself away.

“Yes, Uchiha-sama,” she bows her head as she says it, hoping no tears fall from her traitorous eyes.

“I was briefed on the severity of the situation upon seeing my son,” the clan head’s voice is low and full of gravity, “and I want to take the opportunity to thank you again, truly.”

Miyu looks up to witness him bow to her again, more deeply than he had in the waiting corridor, more deeply than she deserves.

“Please,” she stands, still keeping her hand intertwined with Itachi’s, “there’s no need. I wish,” her throat closes for a moment and she has to take a shaky breath to compose herself. “I wish there was more I could have done, Uchiha-sama.”

“You have done my son, our clan, and Konoha a great service.” He doesn’t let her escape his weighty gaze, “I look forward to repaying you.”

He bows shortly and Miyu offers a deeper one in return.

Then he leaves her alone with Itachi, and she just about falls back into the chair.

“Way to meet your parents,” she sighs into silence broken only by the beep of his monitors.

Itachi doesn’t wake that night. Not that Miyu knows of, at least. Her fatigue catches up to her not long into her vigil.

.

Miyu knows she’s dreaming. Can tell, because while she relives this moment in detail in unconsciousness, she can never manage it while awake. She sees his back, his arms splayed wide to protect her, the blade that swings forward and cuts him down like he’s _nothing_.

Standing, paralysed, a scream caught in her throat because everything had been going so _well_ and now – and now he’s –

They drag her away by the hair, and the last glimpse she catches of him is his lax face as someone pulls him by his leg over the dirty ground to join the pile of dead bodies.

She wonders if this is what having the sharingan is like. Reliving terrifying moments with perfect clarity. She can hear her own heartbeat, smell the blood and the piss and the sweat, feel herself shaking as someone roughly clamps a collar around her neck.

Rage, then. She fights, kicking and screaming because – because he’s _dead_ , and now it’s just Miyu again, just _Miyu_ , gods –

They beat her so badly that she ends up slumped on the floor of the wagon with the other girls and women, face bloodied and body aching and her chest so, so heavy. Her tears create tracks down her dirty, bloody face, and none of the women move forward to help or comfort her. Their husbands, fathers, brothers – dead, or being shipped away as slaves.

One girl, though. One leans in close to Miyu on the third night and murmurs, “What was his name?”

Miyu blinks through her stinging eyes, and opens her dry lips to rasp, “R-”

.

“…got here in time. No one was informed of your previous condition, but they were made aware of the situation’s severity.”

Miyu realises she’s fallen asleep, head resting on her arms atop a firm hospital bed. Sakura’s voice is pitched low, but she’s talking, and _not_ to Miyu.

Opening her eyes, Miyu takes a moment to blink through the daylight streaming through the windows. Yawning into her hand, she sits up, wincing as her back protests, and stretches.

“Morning, Miyu-san,” there’s that clever smile in Sakura’s tone again and as Miyu’s eyes adjust she offers one of her own in return.

“Good morning Sakura-”

The figure on the bed is sitting up. Itachi is sitting _up_. Her head snaps to the side so fast that her hair whips her in the face.

“Itachi!” she’s on her feet, hands reaching for him, but too scared to pull him into a hug in case she hurts him, “Oh, gods, I must have slept through you waking up – I’m so sorry, I was just relieved to see you okay and I only closed my eyes for just a second-”

“Thank you for being here,” Itachi’s smiling at her, still pale and tired. He extends his arm and she grasps his hand, unable to hide the smile on her face because he’s alive and he’s awake, and –

“Happy Birthday, Miyu.”

Miyu doesn’t particularly care that Sakura is watching them with her sharp green gaze. She doesn’t care that the door may well be unlocked, or that ninja passing by might glimpse through the window any moment.

She steps forward and hugs him, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck. He smells like antiseptic and soap, and just a little like burnt caramel for reasons unknown, but his arms come up around her and for a moment all feels right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ensui is a big fat liar pass it on
> 
> hes actually the president of the miyu fan club and sure he didn't recognise her at first, but once he realised he was MIGHTY embarrassed and okay yes a little star struck
> 
> miyu is still composed and dignified even when she's wearing fuzzy yellow house socks in a fluorescent-lit hospital hallway okay thanks for coming to my TED talk


	10. i wanna be with you alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Managing the rumour mill, even a small component of it, is harder than you think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> I've been sooooo blown away by the support for this fic, I want to thank every single reader, kudos-er, commenter and bookmark-er for giving it a shot. I honestly didn't expect anyone to read it/enjoy it, let alone leave me the kind of comments that you guys do. It means a lot, truly
> 
> Thank you guys for your patience with me, I'm doing my best to stick to the 2 week updating schedule at this stage! the next update will be on the 17/03
> 
> there's a whole bunch of drama and intrigue in the next upcoming chapters, so buckle up

Itachi is unused to having free time. Since he’s been old enough to walk and talk, he’s been training and fighting with only limited rest between to allow for optimal recovery. When he reflects on it, it’s not so odd that after his first close brush with death, he’s given time to recuperate.

Fitting, even, that he can now spend time with those who his thoughts had drifted to in those few precarious moments after he’d collapsed, before the retrieval team had come upon him. In those suffocating seconds, he’d seen his parents, Shisui. Sasuke, a baby, then a boy, and now a man. Kakashi, his anbu squad. Miyu, the way her expressions open only for him.

Kakashi and Shisui’s chakra signatures had felt like a dream. For a moment he had thought they were a hallucination, but then he’d been picked up and they were moving at a speed only Shisui could accomplish with his flash-step.

He wondered, as he faded in and out of consciousness, struggling for breath and coughing up blood, whether they arrived fast, or whether he had blacked out and lost time.

When he finally does wake, it’s to Sakura, who scolds him, but tells him;

“That woman saved your life.”

With a smile.

Drugged and fatigued, he doesn’t quite understand who she’s talking about until he wakes a second time. His hospital room is lit only by the service light above his bed, but his eyes hazily make out two forms standing guard.

“Yo,” Kakashi salutes lazily from where he’s leaning against the foot of Itachi’s bed.

“Don’t you dare almost get yourself killed again,” Shisui is scowling as he leans against the wall beside the window, and it looks odd on his face, “scared me half to death, you did.”

Itachi offers a weak smile and opens his mouth to respond when he notices his third visitor.

Miyu’s head is cradled on her arms, obviously having fallen asleep while sitting. Her hair is loose and messy, draped over her cheek and pooled on the bedsheet. Her face is calm and lax, but there are dark purple bags beneath her eyes, and she looks to be in her home wear.

Itachi knows she would never leave her apartment dressed so casually.

“A painting saved your life,” Kakashi begins conversationally.

Itachi only cocks his head in question, eyes not straying from Miyu’s slightly parted lips.

“The one I got Miyu,” Shisui informs him gravely, “you stuck it to her wall with chakra.”

Itachi raises a brow and looks to Kakashi, unsure of what he's getting at.

“She came knocking my door down at an ungodly hour,” the grey haired man sighs, “going on about a painting falling from a wall. She doesn’t even know how chakra _works_ , but she puzzled out that something must’ve happened to you.”

“We just missed the tail end of your battle,” Shisui says lowly, “even then, it was close. Without warning you might have died in transit, or before we even located you.”

Itachi looks back to Miyu, and raises a weak arm to brush her hair off her face.

“Clever,” he hums, warmth bubbling fuzzily in his chest. He absently wonders what drugs they've got him on.

“You can say that, alright,” Kakashi huffs, and the look he slants down at the sleeping woman is almost… fond? Itachi blearily tucks that observation away for later.

Now, with a month on medical leave, Itachi is _bored_.

He makes it four days in before he gets restless enough to go to the police station. His father doesn’t even look up from his desk as he wordlessly pushes over a pile of paperwork.

“Patrol starts at eight and ends at two,” Fugaku’s voice is low and flat.

Itachi presses his lips together as he reads the stiff line of his father’s shoulders. Another clan meeting which hadn’t gone well, he assumed. Most probably Itachi’s fault.

“Father,” he begins, steeling himself for the discussion ahead, “at the hospital-”

“Your mother wants her over for dinner,” Fugaku says it like a command. Itachi snaps his mouth shut.

“It’s a shame,” the older man sets the file he’s working on aside, and rubs at his temples, “the woman seems to care for you.”

“Not a shame,” Itachi’s throat feels too tight. “It’s _not_ a shame. Miyu-”

“Itachi,” his father meets his eyes gravely, “you are engaged to Izumi. Need I remind you that it’s long past the agreed upon marriage terms-”

“By no fault of _mine_ ,” Itachi clenches his fists at his side, struggling to suppress his frustration, “and don’t look at me like – like I’m doing something _disgusting_. Everyone knows about Hana and-”

“It’s different,” snaps Fugaku, running a hand through his neat hair. “ _You_ are the clan heir. If this woman were to get pregnant, gods.” He sighs deeply, a scowl beginning to form on his face.

“The match was arranged by the time I was eight,” Itachi knows he sounds stiff and uncomfortable, but he’s been desperate for a word with his father for weeks now. “I didn’t get a say in it, nor did Izumi. She wants this as little as I do-”

“It is your duty,” Fugaku’s chair tilts dangerously as he surges to his feet, “you must make this match, Itachi. This _woman_ ,” he spits the word like a curse, “is just a passing-”

“Her name is Miyu,” Itachi intones firmly. “She’s not a passing obsession, or a fling. Father, I lo-”

The door opens with a bang, revealing Shisui with his arm in a cast, and one of their clansmen and senior officers, Tekka, at his back.

“I-ta-chi!” singsongs the curly haired menace, waving his cast about like a maniac, “I had a _terrible_ training accident this morning and coincidentally require medical leave.”

Resisting the urge to shower his cousin in a spray of shiruken, Itachi locks eyes with his father, willing him to tell the other two to leave so they can continue this conversation.

“What is it?” Fugaku sighs, turning away from Itachi without hesitation.

“I’m here to be put on the roster, uncle!” Shisui bats his lashes, smiling widely, “and to request that I’m put on Tekka’s squad-”

“Hell _no_!” grunts the man in question, crossing his arms with a menacing scowl.

Still, he tries to implore his father with his eyes. But Uchiha Fukagu is not an indecisive man, and once he has chosen a path of action, he can be trusted to follow through on it every time.

Itachi swallows down his burning frustration and flash-steps away, documents still in hand.

He finds himself at Miyu’s – because of _course_ he does.

She’s at work, but the apartment maintains the thrum of warmth she leaves in her wake. For a moment he stands at the balcony door, taking in the sights and the scents of this space that she’s made her own.

Mid-morning light filters on to hard wood floors and tasteful, earth-toned furniture. The bookcase to his left is littered with trinkets – gifts from her students. A colourful shogi set features like a work of art just below eye-level.

Little indoor potted plants sit, a new addition, arranged on various shelves in a way that makes something within him unwind. The faint scent of incense wafts through the apartment from the tiny shrine at the far right of her suspended shelves.

On the low coffee table sits another shogi set – this one more traditional – seemingly part-way through a game.

A blanket is folded neatly over the back of the fine leather couch, and a book sitting on one of its arms, spot kept with a pretty ornament he’s sure is meant for hair.

The painting Shisui got her – the one that saved his life, in a way – has resumed its place on the wall. Miyu had insisted that he place it there with his chakra. Her hands had been trembling as she gripped the broken frame, so he hadn’t tried suggesting something else.

Warm light filters into the almost obsessively clean kitchen. Itachi had noticed Miyu’s mildly compulsive cleaning before he'd almost died, but in the short time he’s been out of the hospital it’s been undeniably worse.

She sweeps, she mops, she scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until there’s not a speck of imperfection anywhere. It’s the worst in the kitchen, but she’s been getting a little more obsessive over the bathrooms recently, too. Itachi doesn’t know how to approach the issue when she doesn’t seem to think it an issue at all.

Part of him knows it stems from somewhere deeper than the restless energy that tends to seize people in moments of helplessness, but he can’t place it. There’s still so much about her that he doesn’t know.

Sharing her memories had been done in her best interests, of course – but seeing her world, watching her past? That had felt self-indulgent.

It rankles to know that Miyu had been beaten, starved, sold – like livestock.

_Worth less to them than a nanny goat, or a pair of chickens._

He remembers the way the fire had reflected in her eyes that night, glinting brown flickering into molten gold.

Who had she been, before? How did she come to be the… property of the Okiya?

He wants to ask, wants to _see_. Would she show him?

He doesn’t know, and right now he doesn’t dare try.

Itachi wanders to the couch and settles onto it. It’s soft, the leather buttery and supple. Sasuke’s eye for quality has definitely not gone amiss here.

He flips through the stack of documents his father has assigned him. A few cold cases, a few live investigations, and tedious patrol reports in need of reviewing.

He gets started on those first.

Miyu comes home in the afternoon, arms laden with groceries for dinner. Itachi lets himself stare at her for a moment as she neatly toes off her shoes in the entryway.

“I’m home,” she calls into the apartment, and nope – she hasn’t noticed him yet.

Her long hair has been twisted into an elegant low bun, secured with a few matching hair pins. She’s wearing a pretty, plain navy yukata, all neat, crisp lines and quality material.

Her cheeks are tinged pink, probably from her walk up the many flights of stairs. Otherwise, her visible skin is pale. He wonders whether she will develop a tan when summer comes.

Her startled yelp pulls him from his thoughts.

“Gods!” She sets her groceries onto the bench, and sets a delicate hand over her heart, “A little warning, please?”

Itachi can’t help the smile that stretches onto his face. She looks so cute when she’s frazzled. And, well – it feels good to smile freely.

“Sorry,” he says as he rises from the couch, completely insincere, “forgot.”

He did not, in fact, forget.

Miyu’s inherent civilian-ness is on his mind almost constantly. He doesn’t know whether to be glad that she will never see the front lines or terrified of what might happen to her.

“How was your day?” He asks, approaching to help her unpack her haul.

“Busy,” she isn’t meeting his eye. It sets him on high alert immediately.

“Oh?” He takes the tray of eggs from her and slots it into an empty spot in the fridge.

“I - well, I ran into someone at the grocer’s,” Miyu’s voice is calm, polite. All the things she portrays when she doesn’t want you to know how she really feels.

Itachi helps her unpack as he waits patiently for her to decide whether or not it’s something he needs to know.

“Are you familiar with ninja that partner with talking dogs?”

The question almost startles a laugh from him, but he manages to supress it in time. Miyu’s eyes catch on the struggling line of his lips and she raises a brow.

“Yes. The Inuzuka and their ninken are a well-respected ninja clan of Konoha.”

He can’t help the slight quaver to his tone as he tries to contain a chuckle.

“Ah,” Miyu’s lip quirks up slightly, “lucky I had some forewarning in the form of Chikako, then. I only stared at the huge dog for about fifteen seconds before I helped put a dozen apples in the basket it was balancing on its head.”

Itachi does laugh then, imagining Miyu’s impeccably calm face as she tries to process the non-human request in a timely manner.

“You’re probably lucky you didn’t run into their partner. Inuzuka are rather…”

He trails off as Miyu’s face shuts off.

“Ah.” Itachi finishes unpacking the fruit, discreetly watching Miyu’s face as she goes about preparing dinner. He starts helping by peeling the potatoes and carrots that she’s set aside.

“The Inuzuka,” she says after a few long minutes, “are they close with the Uchiha clan?”

Itachi cocks his head, and then hums out, “Not particularly.”

“Hm,” Miyu nudges him to the side to wash the rice. He continues peeling in silence, watching as the gears turn in her head.

“Miyu?” He prompts, only because he’s out of things to peel and she’s washed the rice five times now.

“Oh.” She drains the bowl and moves along, “Sorry. Thinking.”

Itachi dices the potatoes and carrots, cleans up the sink, and turns to watch Miyu as she sautés onion and chunks of beef briefly.

“An Inuzuka woman,” Miyu begins, eyes still calculating, “approached me and told me to keep my ‘claws’ away from her partner.”

Miyu raises a brow.

“It was odd. She seemed… not annoyed. Hm. Furious, is more like it.”

Itachi clenches his jaw briefly before schooling his expression once more.

“She went on to tell me that I will never be accepted by the Uchiha and then she – well, she stole the perfect pomegranate that I had spent ten minutes picking out.”

Miyu’s pouting slightly.

“That upset me more than her words, if I’m honest.”

Itachi turns his next sentence over in his head for just a moment.

“There are… individuals in the Inuzuka clan that are close to individuals from the Uchiha clan,” he says carefully.

She turns her gaze to him, and he wonders if this is what it’s like to be a serious opponent of hers. There is no softness to her brown irises, no reveal of emotion or discomfort in the panes of her face. She looks at him and _sees_.

“And you are one of these… individuals?”

Itachi manages to clamp down on the involuntary urge to force his face into blankness.

“No.”

Miyu keeps looking at him, intelligent eyes straying from his only long enough to take in the rest of his body language.

“Okay,” she says, leaving the unspoken to weigh heavy between them.

Itachi swallows down the tension he feels, and hopes she will forgive him for his selfishness. He wants these moments – where it’s just the two of them, no clan, no… fiancé – to last as long as possible. It will have to end eventually.

Just. Not now.

They speak no more of the encounter, and as they make dinner Itachi silently flicks through the few Inuzuka women with cause enough to approach Miyu.

There is only one that has any significant relevance to the situation, and he winces at the thought of having to deal with her.

“Has anyone else approached you?” He asks as they sit down to eat.

Miyu shakes her head, “Not outside of work. Ah, well – except for Ensui-san, but that was to request a game of shogi.”

.

Itachi waits until Miyu falls asleep to summon Chikako.

“What’s the situation?” He asks, nursing a steaming cup of tea on the balcony.

“Good evening to you too, Itachi- _sama_.”

Oh, dear. She’s brought the attitude already.

“The situation?” he prompts, raising a brow.

The crow clucks disdainfully, turning her sleek black beak into the air haughtily.

“Mi-chan would never summon me without saying a simple _hello_ first – why haven’t I been seeing her recently? You never let me around her-”

“The report, Chikako?” Itachi pinches the bridge of his nose and schools his patience.

“Yes, yes,” she rolls her eyes at him, “well, the situation you wanted to calm down so badly? It didn’t calm at _all_.”

Itachi sighs. He’d known that much.

“Kakashi and the others helped throw them off your scent for a little while, but her trip to his house in the middle of the night started a whole new slew of chatter, y’know?”

Itachi watches as the little bird paces along the railing.

“And then someone saw Ensui on her balcony later that evening, so part of the rumour mill has formed a Nara-Miyu support squad. There’s a lot of romantic shogi talk which I frankly do not understand.”

Itachi huffs a laugh into his cup and takes another sip of tea.

“Anyway, most of that talk fell to the wayside after around ten hours after you were brought in,” Chikako shakes out her wings briefly and does a bird’s equivalent of a yawn. “The moment she set foot in that hospital, the bets were on.”

“Bets?” Itachi can’t help his long-suffering tone.

“On whether there would be a confrontation between Miyu and your mother, Miyu and your father, or Miyu and Izumi.”

Itachi lets out a shaky breath and waves a hand to continue when Chikako pauses to cock her head at him.

“A small portion of the bets were on Hana confronting Miyu, which got paid out this afternoon I’ll have you know.”

Chikako pauses then, and stares at him until he meets her beady eyes.

“Itachi-sama… _what_ are you doing with Mi-chan?”

Instead of answering, he gestures for her to continue and takes another sip from his still-steaming tea. She gives him a spectacular stink-eye before she goes on.

“So, the little hospital spectacle added fuel to the fire and now Mi-chan has met your parents and the Uchiha are openly speaking of her.”

Itachi mutters a curse under his breath and waits.

“This afternoon, Inuzuka Hana approached Mi-chan and gave her an earful. Two Yamanakas, a chunin, three jounin, and that old batty gossip from the grocer witnessed it.”

Chikako huffs in frustration.

“Mi-chan smartly did not partake in any conversation with the Inuzuka, which has been the source of much pride for her supporters and a pain in the backside to half the gossip-mongers in the jounin lounge.”

“Nara Samui and Yamanaka Inoichi cashed out ten thousand ryo each for calling an Inuzuka confrontation within a week of your discharge.”

“How the…?” Itachi lets his sigh trail off and decides not to question it.

“Shisui immediately went on damage control and spread that he saw Miyu napping on Kakashi in the hospital waiting room – which is true, by the way – and Sasuke refused to comment on the interaction between Mi-chan and your parents.”

Sipping at his tea, Itachi thinks that he might just have to cut Shisui some slack now that the bastard is actually trying to help.

“There’s been talk in the Uchiha compound of the clan head possibly extending an invitation to Mi-chan in order to meet her officially.”

Gods, Itachi hopes _not_. He’s been avoiding home relentlessly to avoid his mother and her razor-sharp presence.

“The rumours Naruto started three weeks ago about Izumi and Hana’s role in hiring Mi-chan to get you to call off the engagement has gained a little traction, many of the mind that Hana confronted Mi-chan too blatantly.”

“They think it was staged?” Itachi grudgingly feels amusement begin to stir.

“Yep. Better yet, Yamato started a branch rumour that Mi-chan ruined the plan by actually falling for you and Hana blew up about overstepping on their contract.”

He can’t help but snort at that.

“I wonder what Hana is making of that.”

“You’d know if you thought to speak to her every now and then.” Chikako bites out. “Or maybe-”

“No, Chikako. Just. No.”

Itachi turns and goes inside before he can lose his temper at the crow.

Though the guest bedroom is comfortable and clean, he finds himself staring up at the dark ceiling, wondering what it would be like to fall asleep beside Miyu.

.

Itachi watches from the shaded walkway surrounding the courtyard as Miyu teaches her class of four-year-olds.

The class have been given tall paper hats shaped like shogi pieces, and are standing on a large, chequered straw mat, playing out a simple game.

“Kaneki-kun,” Miyu’s voice is loud and rings clear, “what are you?”

“I’m a knight sensei,” replies a boy wearing thickly framed glasses. He’s painfully cute.

“Can you tell me where you can move as a knight?” Miyu’s smiling at the child, who blushes furiously before nodding.

“Two squares forward, and either one to the left or one to the right.”

“Well done,” Miyu claps and the other children join in. “What about you, Aiko-chan? What’s your piece, and where can you go?”

“I’m a bishop,” a little girl with a gap tooth says. Her lisp makes Itachi feel the need to clutch at his chest and try not to die from an overabundance of adorable. “I can go that way and that way all the way!”

She’s gesturing with her arms along the diagonals.

“Very good,” Miyu is trying very hard not to smile any wider than she already is. Her lips are trembling with the effort.

In the privacy of the shadows, Itachi lets his own smile stretch into being at the scene.

Miyu turns to a few other children, dangling earrings catching in the light. Sasuke had taken her only the day before to get her ears pierced, and the tiny origami cranes that hang at the end of the thin silver attachment are navy, with miniature red and silver camellias printed onto the paper.

They suit her.

Itachi had spent half an hour this morning at the markets, picking out a few different earring designs he thinks she might like. He’s sure that his actions would have added further fuel to the fire that is the rumour mill if he wasn’t henged into a spotty-faced, gangly, teenaged boy.

A slight flare of chakra gets his attention, and he lets himself look towards the courtyard’s side entrance, where the guard rotation is changing. He flares his own chakra in a standard greeting, and the team of three stationed at different points throughout the compound greet him in code.

He hopes none of them spread news of his visit, and then winces as he thinks about the statistics of it. If there are three team members, two are guaranteed gossips off the bat.

The class ends and the children disperse after helping Miyu gather the mat and hats.

“Afternoon,” he greets as Miyu is making her way to the storeroom which he is conveniently standing in front of.

“Oh,” she makes to smile, and then stops herself, glancing to the small crowd of parents that stand at the gates not too far to pick up their children. “Good afternoon.”

Itachi takes the rolled up straw mat and the basket filled with carefully arranged hats and places them neatly inside the storeroom. Miyu has busied herself writing notes in a lesson planner.

He realises abruptly that his eyesight must be improving, because he can just make out the artful tilt of her handwriting, the words – _complete. Comprehension acceptable, basic openings next week –_

Before he looks away, busying himself with shutting the storeroom door.

“Care for tea?” He asks, not offering her his arm despite his burning want.

She shuts the book and tucks the pen away before nodding with a polite smile.

They draw many stares as they exit the compound together, and Itachi blatantly ignores the mild traffic on the rooftop routes as ninja just about run into each other trying to catch a glimpse of he and Miyu walking alongside one another.

There’s a careful half metre left between them. The back of his hand is tingling with the urge to brush against hers. He ignores that, too.

They go to tea and he orders dango, and they maintain their intentional distance the entire time. Itachi is hyper-aware of being observed, and though Miyu doesn’t act uncomfortable or distressed in the least he’s sure she picks up on it.

The dreaded ‘sama’ is tacked onto his name, so she _must_.

Miyu only ever calls him Itachi now. Just Itachi, no attachments. It’s liberating.

He absently wonders how many crows Chikako will need to monitor the gossip, or whether she will bribe the local bird population into aiding her. Belatedly, he realises Shisui is going to be an extra pain in his ass for all the damage control he’s going to have to coordinate after this impromptu tea date.

“How have you been feeling today?” Miyu inquires over her strawberry mochi.

Itachi sighs, and murmurs, “Bored, to be honest with you.”

She hides a smile behind her teacup, and he admires the light flush to her cheeks. It’s still cold out – and if the way Miyu is cradling her cup between her hands is any indication, she’s definitely feeling it.

He half reaches across the table to capture one of her hands in his and initiate breath of fire, but abruptly he remembers where they are, and has to abort halfway. He turns his reach for her into a reach for his dango, and swallows it down with his disappointment.

Gods, what was he _thinking_ , bringing her here and expecting to make things work?

“Itachi-sama?”

He snaps back to attention. Watches Miyu’s face carefully.

She’s looking at him like she knows what he’s thinking – and she probably does. In the panes of her face he reads amusement, empathy, and – understanding.

“I get it,” she murmurs, head cocked to the side. Her new earrings sway with the movement, and for a moment he’s captivated by them. They draw his gaze from her delicate ears to the pale line of her neck, where he can see her pulse thrumming with his steadily-improving eyesight.

He wants, so badly, to press his lips to her neck. Feel her heart beating, know the life in her veins and –

He tears himself away from that train of thought and berates himself. He’s managed to do so well today, too. He hadn’t even thought about what she tastes like once – oh, damn it.

Itachi resigns himself to daydreaming about the woman before him, an alternate reality where his clan status is of no consequence and they can just _be_.

.

“It-a-chi!”

Supressing a weary sigh, Itachi lets his gaze settle on Shisui, who seems to have gained the attention of everyone else in the meeting room. By everyone else, it’s just about the entire office force with the exception of their rotating patrol and reception roster.

“Yes,” he responds flatly, ignoring the many pairs of dark eyes lingering on their exchange.

“Someone _special_ is here to see you,” Shisui sing-songs, but it’s not quite loud enough for the entire room to hear. Those along the edges of the boardroom ‘subtly’ shift in closer.

Deciding not to ask, Itachi just raises a brow.

Shisui, shit-eating grin in place, points to the door and says, “Out there.”

Withholding another sigh, Itachi files out and makes for –

He spots her and has to stop himself from flash-stepping to her side. She’s staring absently at their pin board, which is definitely classified information, but Itachi doesn’t particularly care. It should be better hidden.

“Miyu,” he almost adds the suffix to her name.

“Oh – Itachi-sama,” she blinks out of her daze and smiles at him. “I brought you this.”

She holds out a package wrapped neatly in chequered blue and white cloth, and he has to exert solid effort into not clutching at his chest.

“You… made me lunch?” his voice is low, and he’s aware of a few chakra signatures sneaking out of the meeting room on the far side of the office behind him.

“Yes,” she pushes it in to his hands, and he can read confusion in the slight quirk of her brows.

She’s made him lunch many times, and he, her.

But this – preparing it, packing it, wrapping it up – it’s –

“Aw, Miyu-chan,” Shisui appears with only the slightest disruption of air. Itachi refrains from reflexively flicking a handful of shiruken at his face. “You didn’t make one for me?”

“Shisui-san,” she doesn’t blush under his flirty pout, “I didn’t know you were in the village, or on shift.”

His cousin pouts harder.

“I _told_ ‘Tachi to tell you! Now _I_ miss out on-”

“I packed Itachi two,” Miyu interrupts seamlessly with a placating smile, “in case he got held up here with paperwork. I’m sure he’ll share with you if you ask.”

Her keen brown gaze slides from Shisui to him and he feels a flare of admiration for her. So easily she shifts the dynamics of a conversation, like pieces on her shogi board.

“Itachi can I, can I, can I, can I-”

“If you walk away right now, I’ll give you one,” Itachi says, with no intention of doing so.

Shisui narrows his eyes and jabs a finger at him, “You better give me that bento. I broke my _arm_ to hang out with you on leave you-”

“Your arm?” Miyu sounds concerned, “Oh, Shisui-san, that must have been terrible. I’m sure you’re exhausted. I’ll leave you to your work now and wish you well for the rest of your day.”

Her eyes meet Itachi’s again.

“Itachi-sama,” there's amusement in her tone, and he watches as her cheek twitches with the effort it's taking her to hold back her smile.

Shisui is eyeing the bento out of the corner of his eye

“Care to walk me out?”

He keeps his face blank despite his mouth’s violent urge to twitch into a smile.

They leave Shisui at the pin board as they make for the main entrance.

Itachi ignores his shouts of –

“Hang on – Hang on, hey - I’ve figured this out! It was right there the whole time, _look_!”

And instead steps into the mid-morning sun, Miyu by his side. 

"I- I'm sorry," she says suddenly, "for coming without warning. It's just - well, I usually have a gap in my day around now and now that you're in the village, I just thought-"

"Miyu," he knows he shouldn't smile at her here and now, where everyone is probably watching, but he doesn't want to hold himself back. 

"-I just thought you might appreciate-"

He reaches out and captures one of her hands in his. Her mouth shuts with a soft click, and he watches as she wills away the slight flush across the bridge of her nose. 

"Thank you." 

She smiles at him, and it's not one of her proper, calm ones. It's small and a little shy, out here in the open, and he thinks it's the best thing that has happened to him today.

When he returns to the office, he finds Tekka’s squad gathered around the pin board as Shisui explains his sudden epiphany regarding a series of break-ins the force has been investigating. Itachi uses the distraction to eat his bento – packed neatly, elegantly. There are no cutesy adornments, which he’s privately grateful for.

The arrangement is undoubtedly Miyu’s style.

He takes a bite of the perfectly shaped rice ball and hopes it hides his smile.

.

A week and a half later, Itachi enters the station to absolute chaos.

Nara Ensui is scowling as he peers at the pin board. What seems to be half the officers on duty are crowded around him, yelling. Itachi’s father is standing beside Ensui, frowning. Nothing new.

“- appease the spirit! It’s come to me three times now!”

“Fuck off, Daisuke, it’s not a fucking spirit-”

“It sure as hell _is!_ He’s not lying I’ve seen him solve things three times, and I’ve done it twice now too, after leaving offerings-”

“So you’re the culprit that left that fucking incense, you prick! Almost burnt the fucking station down-”

Shisui sidles up to him and Itachi can only watch the mounting arguments with apathy. The Uchiha have always been particularly inclined to superstition.

“Have you tried asking our helpful spirit for guidance, dear cousin?” he asks, running a hand through his curls.

“Spirit,” Itachi intones flatly.

“Spirit, ghost, divine godly presence, whatever you want to call it,” his cousin waves his hand lazily. “Fact is, we’re solving crimes at an unprecedented rate and our pin board seems to be the source.”

Itachi raises a single brow. “Seriously, Shisui?”

“Pay attention, yeah? I think one of the newbies is gonna leave an offering – I dunno if it’s a spirit or a vengeful ghost, a god or just a stroke of luck, but something is going on and the KMP are losing their freaking _minds_.”

Watching the growing crowd of officers, Itachi silently agrees with at least one of Shisui’s comments.

People are losing their minds, alright.

Joining the few stoic officers that seem to be observing the spectacle, Itachi subtly inquires on the betting pool, because _surely_ there has to be one by now.

He puts ten thousand ryo on this ‘spirit’ being a person just messing with them. And then he gets started on the veritable mountain of paperwork awaiting him, but not before setting his bento box on the edge of his desk with a small, fond smile.

Itachi decides to head home after his shift instead of going straight to Miyu’s. It's been a while since he's been there for more than a minute at a time, in full stealth mode at that.

He knows he’s made a big mistake the moment he spots Sasuke in the kitchen, leaning stiffly against the counter.

“What-” his voice dies in his throat as his mother steps into view. There’s a pretty, placid smile on her face that definitely doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Itachi,” her voice is pleasant, despite her sharp gaze, “I’ve missed you, dear son.”

Oh. Oh, he is _so_ fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shisui, approx 1 hour before he interrupts Itachi and Fukagu's talk: hey, kakashi. Hey! Hey, hey, heyyyy! Stop reading porn and pay attention to me!  
> Kakashi:...  
> Shisui: I need your help!!  
> Kakashi:...  
> Shisui: it's urgent!!! related directly to keeping an eye on my troublesome little cousin  
> Kakashi: which one  
> Shisui: RUDE  
> Shisui: anyway, so I need you to injure me  
> Kakashi: say no more
> 
> .
> 
> I thought I'd give you a little peek of Itachi's POV. Sorry if it's a little clunky, I'm so used to writing Miyu that this might be a bit of a shitty chapter on my end. 
> 
> Up next: 
> 
> a few puzzling interactions
> 
> a very awkward dinner
> 
> a LONG awaited first


	11. in the interest of shogi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miyu just wants to play shogi. Why does everyone feel the need to overcomplicate that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi my loves! I hope you've all been well :) 
> 
> I finished this chapter early, so I'm giving it to y'all early - the next update will still be 03/03 for reference, but if I'm ahead on writing I'll try and post it sooner too! 
> 
> Again, thank you for your continued support. Big thank you to my friends Rach and Bea who have been endlessly listening to my Miyu-rambles. They hype me up to write, people, you owe them this chapter and many more to come
> 
> enjoy!

Miyu is nineteen again, high on her first victory against Makishima. She has celebratory drinks with Mother at the Okiya, even sees Nanami and Kikyo before they move on to entertain at their parties.

Miyu is nineteen again, the streets are filled with the lantern lights of the spring festival, and sake burns through her veins. She weaves her way through the crowds along the usual path to Rin’s club, brimming with excitement and elation.

Miyu is nineteen again, watching, frozen, as Satsuki raises a hand and settles it gently against the man’s face. Time slows as she watches them, as Satsuki leans in and kisses him softly, the way she kisses _Miyu_ , and –

.

Miyu wakes with tears in her eyes and an ache in her throat.

 _Not again_.

She doesn’t want to dream of heartbreak anymore.

_Not again, please, gods._

But with every passing day, her trepidation grows. She knows how she feels about Itachi. She even thinks she might know how he feels about her.

But gods, is it much to ask that he helps her understand her role here?

She’s used to knowing all the pieces, understanding the moves they can make and the space she has on the board. But now? Now she feels blind. She can hear the pieces shifting around her – rumours, gossip, confrontations and - actions, deafening in their absence.

None of it is sliding into place. None of it makes _sense_. If Itachi would just - just _talk_ to her, maybe she would feel less like an amateur in a field of experts.

Miyu gets out of bed, and goes through her morning routine. Surprisingly, she’s alone when she steps out into the kitchen. Itachi hadn’t come in last night, but part of her had been hoping to catch him in the morning.

She silently goes about making tea, and takes it with her to settle on the cushion she sets before the coffee table. Her shogi board is well into the midgame she’d been playing out last night.

Miyu reaches out and resumes play, forcing her full focus into each side of the board, pushing herself into corners again and again.

It’s an exercise in mental flexibility that she’s never tired of, not since she was a girl.

She takes a sip of too-hot tea, and wishes all things came to her as easily as shogi.

.

“Would you be so kind as to answer a question for me, Naruto-san?” Miyu asks as he guides her to the tea house.

“Depends on what kinda question you ask, ya know?” He grins at her, hands linked behind his head as his sky-blue eyes crinkle with mirth.

“If you are unable to help, I understand,” she begins mildly, “I was… hoping you would be able to provide some insight on a particular engagement.”

His eyes are sharp now, despite the smile still gracing his lips.

“Unfortunately, this engagement is a sore topic with someone rather dear to me, you see,” she pointedly shifts her gaze to the road ahead, giving him time to contemplate without her observation. “But as of recently, it’s begun to affect me here and there. Nothing major, but enough to make me curious.”

There. Enough to imply that she’s prying about Itachi’s engagement, enough to tell him about her concern over the Inuzuka confrontation, but definitely not enough for prying ears to make something more.

Naruto, though? He understands immediately.

“Ne, Miyu-chan,” his voice is light, “I don’t really think it’s my place to say. There’s enough intrigue surrounding them in the first place, what with their attempt to call it off last year and all.”

Her breath catches in her throat at that and she struggles to keep her head from reflexively whipping to face the blond beside her.

“Their clan bounced their request twice, which isn’t really fair, hey?” he yawns briefly, “Started all kinds of rumours about the lengths they’d go to in order to get it called off, if ya know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, she does.

Gods, the clan must think her a convoluted attempt at ending things for a – third? – time.

The nature of the rumours Chikako had gathered in the first few months of correspondence between her and Itachi suddenly makes more sense.

Swallowing down the mild nausea rising to the surface, Miyu turns to Naruto and offers him a smile.

“Thank you.”

He only gives her a charming grin, gesturing to the traditional exterior of the shop they’re approaching.

“Here’s the Jasmine Dragon. Ensui’s inside! He’ll help you home if you need it, Miyu-chan. Have a great day!”

He disappears, and Miyu thinks she might finally be acclimatising to the eccentricities of ninja. Would it be so terrible for them to walk like normal people in the safety of their own village?

Shaking her head fondly, Miyu enters the tea house. The attendant smiles and leads her further into the building without so much as a ‘hello’. They stop in a hallway and a door slides open to a room. Only one of its three occupants turns to acknowledge her from where they’re admiring the display at the alcove.

Miyu finds herself smiling at Ensui as she bows in thanks to the attendant and eases onto the tatami.

“Miyu-san,” Ensui’s tone is warm despite the lazy blink he offers her. “You look well.”

“Nara-san,” she bows, smile not leaving her face, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more.”

“Perhaps it would be better to address us by our first names, Miyu-san,” says the eldest man in the room, turning to her with a smirk. “Might get a little confusing otherwise.”

“Shikaku-sama,” she bows low, “Shikamaru-sama. A lovely surprise to see you both.”

When she rises all three of them are facing her.

She tamps down on her urge to blush as they bow in unison.

“It is an honour to be acquainted with the Meijin,” Shikaku says, as though he isn’t a clan head and she isn’t a nobody.

“Please,” she shakes her head, “I am not officially-”

“We all know that’s bullshit,” Ensui snorts, slanting a look to Shikamaru that she can’t quite place. “Now do we waffle around with pleasantries or do we play some shogi?”

Miyu laughs, and it’s not one she’s practiced a hundred times with Nanami. She’s excited, elated, even, to play competitively again.

“I don’t have a board,” she says, still smiling.

Three pops of smoke, and a low table along with three shogi sets manifest in the space between she and the clansmen. She can’t hide her smile any longer, and with joy she hasn’t felt since her last game against Makishima, she says – “Let’s play.”

.

Shikamaru thinks he might be a little enamoured.

The woman opposite him is small in stature, polite and calm and warm as she had been on that mission not so long ago. He had not forgotten her intense focus, nor her artful mastery of the eighty-one squares that make up the world of shogi.

Even as he, his father, and Ensui make three different openings, Miyu takes it in stride.

He keeps his focus on his own board, decidedly less cautious this game than he had been the first time he played her. He isn’t the first one to concede defeat, thankfully. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ensui bow to her from where he’s seated on his father’s other side.

Swallowing down his nerves, he glances just briefly to his father’s board. Just in time to watch a pale hand manoeuvre a pawn and check his father’s king.

He refocuses on his game as she reaches over his board and, in a move he had ruled out due to it’s boldness, situates her general in a perfect position for capture. He should just pay attention to his game, but curiosity gets the best of him and he looks over to his father’s board.

His father is forced to take the pawn. As expected, it’s a simple matter for Miyu to press forward, her bishop providing an unrelenting avenue of attack.

Shikamaru looks at his own board again, and realises he has one of two options. Take the general, and fall into whatever trap she’s laid out. Or ignore it and let it wreak havoc on the defences he’s spent half of the game setting up.

He frowns at the pieces before him, mind racing with the possibilities of her next move.

The room is silent, aside from the quiet breaths of its occupants. Shikamaru thinks.

Ignoring the general is a path he may need to take. He could stage an attack himself, go for her less-protected kings-pawn and take her silver general when it no doubt moves in to block his attack on the king. And then what? She would have him surrounded, her attacking general still in play and he, down another piece.

With his mouth pressed into a grim line, he takes her general and wonders what pact he’s unconsciously signed. Resolutely deciding not to focus on his father’s game from here on in, he watches as she neatly takes the rook he had used to capture her general.

Ah, shit.

Of course her motives for a sacrifice would be simple. And here he’s been agonising over scenarios that she might not have been thinking – wait, no. This is Miyu. She definitely would have contingency plans for almost every move he could possibly make at any given time.

He spares a brief thought for the slip of paper she handed him at the end of that mission. On it, two games. One he recognised instantly as the Waterfall game against Ito, but the other had been new. He and his father had played it out in its entirety. Shikamaru, a little giddy at playing Miyu, had been awed at the surety of her play. 

"Once in a lifetime, son," his father had murmured, staring, entranced at the board, "you find a player like this."

Sighing, he shifts his gaze to the board beside him. Interestingly, his father has gotten himself out of her pin, and is pressing a minor advantage with her captured piece.

His own board is looking grim. Taking in a deep, calming breath, Shikamaru presses the tips of his fingers together and rests his forehead on them.

 _Think_.

There’s definitely time to get himself out of this. But every move he considers making is accompanied by an afterimage of a smooth, pale hand responding with unrelenting skill.

 _Don’t panic_.

He’s been in real battles before, faced enemies who he’s certain could have killed him and his team.

But right here, right now, he feels hopelessness, heavy and churning in his gut. His eyes dart up to watch the woman opposite them. She’s sitting effortlessly in seiza, hands folded neatly on her lap as she waits for either he or his father to make a move.

Her face is calm, but her eyes are sharp, sparked with life, burning with an expression he can’t place. He knows that no matter what he does, her face will not change. Her eyes will not change.

This woman knows no hopelessness, or defeat.

Even if he somehow managed to turn the tide of their game, she would be there – a lighthouse, still and steady amongst turmoil.

Unshaking in her competence, unyielding in her confidence, and completely within her rights to be so.

As crushing as it feels to be opposite her, he lets himself smile slightly.

At least she’s not ninja.

.

Miyu bows to the head of the Nara, letting a smile overtake her game-face calm as she rises from it.

“Well played, Shikaku-sama,” she demures as the scarred man gives her a crooked grin.

“You’re as terrifying as ever, Miyu-san.”

She laughs then, and lets herself enjoy the satisfaction of three games well-played.

“I didn’t realise your ruthlessness ‘til now,” Ensui is stroking his chin, a brow raised, “had me on the back foot from the get.”

Miyu raises a brow of her own and opens her mouth to reply when the attendant returns and begins the ceremony.

Sharing an amused look with Shikamaru, they watch the graceful attendant go through the motions of preparing their tea.

It gets set before her, and Miyu smiles as she inhales the scent of a gentle white tea.

“Silver needle?” she hums, more to herself than anyone else. The steam wafting from her cup reminds her painfully of Kikyo.

Ignoring the sudden tightening of her throat, she takes a sip and lets it soothe her.

“Will you resume playing in tournaments now that you are in Konoha? The winter tournament is in Tea this year, I heard.” Shikamaru sounds only a little bored, blowing on his cup lightly.

Miyu swallows down the surge of grief at the topic, and shrugs.

“Well… I cannot leave Konoha at this stage,” her voice drops an octave, and she schools her face into its polite calm once more, “and I… may never return to tournaments.”

Shikamaru blinks at her, uncomprehending.

She thinks it must be a rather novel expression to see on a Nara.

“Say _what_?” Ensui sounds as baffled as the younger Nara looks.

Holding tight to her composure, Miyu offers a tight smile.

“I’m assuming you’re unaware of the situation that led to me arriving in Konoha?”

Shikamaru speaks up, “A fire,” he says with a frown, “you lost your home.”

Her jaw clenches involuntarily and she barely restrains herself from saying, _I lost far more than that._

“Yes,” she admits after a moment, “an unfortunate consequence of my game with the Daimyo at the Fire Festival.”

At this, Shikamaru goes very still.

Shikaku doesn’t react outwardly, but Ensui is scowling.

“The Daimyo is not aware that I’m alive,” she takes a sip to distract from the panic that stirs at the thought of roiling black smoke and crackling wood, “my appearance may not be welcomed.”

“So you’re in hiding.”

Miyu blinks at Ensui’s bluntness, and then shrugs.

“Not necessarily. I haven’t changed my name, and if one were to check they would see that my bank account has been active.”

She takes another sip of tea, sighing, “But I’ve yet to make plans to leave Konoha.”

There’s a brief, heavy silence.

“Miyu-san,” Shikaku begins, at there’s levity to his tone that makes her want to sit a little straighter, “surely there’s a solution to this.”

Miyu meets his dark eyes and knows he’s begun another game between them. Only this one is absent of shogi tiles.

“Oh?” her gaze flits briefly to Shikamaru, who slants his father an odd look before sipping at his tea. Ensui is frowning at the table before them, looking troubled.

“Perhaps the backing of a noble clan of Konoha would be deterrent enough for our honoured Daimyo.”

Miyu doesn’t express her curiosity at his words. Surely, he’s not implying what she thinks he is.

“Perhaps,” she says, setting her cup down with a smooth movement. She waits for him to go on.

“The Nara may be one such clan willing to risk the attention of our nation’s esteemed leader,” Shikaku’s eyes trail to Ensui only briefly. Miyu resolutely doesn’t let her own gaze be drawn away from the clan head.

“An interesting concept,” she comments, as though they’re discussing the tea and not something of great significance. “But with all respect, Shikaku-sama, why would the Nara take such a risk?”

A grin stretches onto his face and Miyu’s pulse jumps at the sight of it.

This man is the head of a respected clan, trained in the ninja arts his entire life. While she may have bested him in a few games of shogi, his experience in politics far outweighs hers.

“In the interest of shogi, Miyu-san,” he says, and his tone rings with truth, “there is little a Nara wouldn’t do.”

.

The winter festival in Konoha is celebrated differently to the capital. The lanterns back home had been a vibrant red, symbolic of the new year. People dressed in their finest formal wear to herald in a year of good fortune. Though the streets were often cold and sometimes snow even fell, the warm bask of red light and the sweet, hot sake sold at every second vendor was enough to keep the cold away.

In Konoha, the lanterns are all blue. People dress in red, though, their way to honour the new year, and from high vantage point Miyu can’t help but admire the contrast in the streets.

She watches from her balcony, blinking down at the bustling crowd. Blue lanterns in all shades are strung in almost every street, zig-zagging between buildings of different heights to create beautiful, chaotic structure.

“Yo,” Kakashi’s voice scares the life out of her, and she almost slips on the slick surface of her balcony.

“Kakashi-san!” Miyu places a hand to her heart and realises his hand on her back is the only thing that stopped her from slipping onto her ass.

“Sorry,” he doesn’t sound it in the _least_ , the menace. “I’m here to chaperone you to your chaperone.”

Miyu smiles at that, ignoring the lingering embarrassment burning at her cheeks, “I didn’t think Naruto-san would have time to take me around today. Surely he’d like to spend time with his friends?”

Kakashi cocks his head at her, hand still resting on her back. She wills the burning in her cheeks to go away.

“You are his friend, Miyu-san,” he says blandly, “don’t imply otherwise. It’d break his little heart.”

“Oh,” she looks back down to the street, “I… assumed I was an obligation more than anything.”

He blinks his one visible eye slowly.

“I’m going to ignore that,” he says offhandedly, and then steps closer to her. She can feel the heat he seems to radiate through her kimono, even as her own cheeks flood with warmth at their proximity. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me.”

He sweeps her feet from beneath her, lifting her into his arms effortlessly.

“Kakashi-san-”

“Don’t worry,” he says as he jumps up onto her railing, “us ninja are much less inclined to slipping than you lot.”

And then he hops down to street level using the balconies of her apartment complex.

Heart still in her throat, but glad she hadn’t screamed, Miyu is set down on the street with care.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t have taken the stairs,” she’s sure to keep the sharpness from her tone. Surely, he’s doing it for the fun of laughing at her now.

“We could have,” Kakashi shrugs. But he’s unmoving as he looks at her, not making to lead the way.

“Kakashi-san…?” she cocks her head, blinking up at him in the blue-tinged lantern light. His hair looks peculiar, full of pale colour now, and he sticks out oddly from the crowd in his jounin gear.

He raises an arm, and reaches towards her.

Miyu holds her breath as his hand passes by her face. His fingers smooth at her hair for a moment, and she hears the tinkle of the glass ornaments on her hairpin as he straightens it.

He meets her eye, expression unreadable. She hopes the flush on her cheeks will pass as a reaction to the cold.

His hand drops back to his side slowly, and he tucks it into his pants pocket.

Miyu clears her throat and arranges the half of her hair that’s down to cover her exposed throat. Gods, she thought the half-up, half-down hairstyle would work in her favour in this freezing weather, but in hindsight it mightn’t have been the best decision. 

“Crooked,” he says belatedly.

“Thank you,” is her soft reply.

Kakashi turns abruptly and leads the way through the throngs of red-clad citizens. Blushing, Miyu sticks close to him.

They come upon the group within five minutes, crowded around a stand selling dango and tea.

She spots Sakura and Naruto immediately. They’re both dressed in variations of their usual outfits, with accents of red – though Sakura’s is much unchanged.

Sasuke is standing exasperatedly between them as they fight to pay the bill.

“-paid last time Sakura-chan! I’ve got this one, believe it!”

“So what if I got it last time? I’m allowed to spoil my teammates – you know I’m well paid!”

“But Sakura-chan, I wanted to-”

“Ah,” the vendor smiles at them apologetically, “Uchiha-san has taken care of it...”

“Sasuke!”

They both whirl on their teammate, and Miyu can’t help laughing at his long-suffering expression.

All three of them look to her, and she bows shallowly in greeting.

“Good evening,” she can’t keep the smile out of her voice, “it’s good to see you three.”

“Miyu-chan!” Naruto just about bounces over, thrusting a stick of mitarashi dango into one hand, and a cup of tea in the other.

“Naruto-san, I-”

“Kampai!” he yells, and the other members of team seven tap their cups to hers before taking a swig of tea.

Miyu is left laughing as they all blanch upon burning their tongues, though Sakura remedies that rather quickly.

“Will Yamato-san be joining us?” Miyu asks, blowing at her own cup before she takes a sip.

“He’s on security, unfortunately,” Kakashi supplies, an empty stick of dango perched in his fingers. Miyu does a small double take, wondering when the hell he had the time to scoff the dumplings down.

“That’s a shame,” she says, and means it. Yamato is quiet, but she knows he’s kind, can see the love he has for his team. “Perhaps we should get him some dango to-go?”

“Aw, Miyu-san,” someone slings an arm around her shoulder, and she looks up to see Ensui smirking at her, “were you gonna grab some for me, too?”

“Why would she do that?” Sasuke gives Ensui’s arm a narrow-eyed stare. “You’re literally right here.”

“He’s kidding, dumbass,” Sakura, elbows him playfully in the side, but her eyes are scanning the rooftops around them.

“Here,” Miyu offers Ensui her dango. “My thanks for helping me deal with banking bureaucracy the other day.”

Ensui accepts the stick with a raised brow.

“You say it as though I actually contributed. All I did was watch _you_ do all the work.”

Miyu huffs out a laugh, “Trust me I needed all the moral support I could get. Hideo-san has been giving me grief for the past three months because he doesn’t think single women are suited to investing.”

“Is someone giving you a hard time Miyu-chan?” Naruto jumps into the conversation, metaphorical weapons blazing, “I’ll back you up!”

Miyu smiles fondly at the blond, and shakes her head.

“It’s been sorted, Naruto-san. Thank you for the offer.”

Sakura is peering at her oddly.

“If the bank continues to be a problem, let me know. I’ll come with you next time.”

Miyu takes in the woman’s ready stance, her squared shoulders, and the set of her jaw, and has to force away the blush threatening her cheeks. Gods, why is she so attracted to strong women?

“Of course, Sakura-san,” she nods, and hopes she won’t have to. Surely Hideo-san was intimidated enough by a Nara glaring at him for two hours.

“Let’s go play some festival games!” Naruto forges a trail through the crowd, and Ensui’s arm slips from her shoulders as they make their way through the crowds after him.

They’re walking slow enough that Miyu has time to look at the vendors they pass. Most of them are serving food, but many are selling their wares. She stops at a glass vendor, eyeing the intricate figurines. There’s a standing kanji for ‘fire’, clear and small and beautiful.

A Hashirama leaf, so detailed she can see the ripples along its surface as though it’s being tousled by a gentle breeze.

“Amazing,” she murmurs, lifting her gaze to the vendor. A rather grumpy looking old man stares back at her. “Did you make these?”

He gives her a curt nod.

She steps a little closer, and peers at the exquisite animal figurines, small enough to fit into the palm of her hand.

“These are wonderful,” she says, absorbed by the unfailing details. She picks a little bird, a cat, and a wolf, and asks for them to be bagged. She hands over the cash, accepts the little bag, and when she turns around Ensui and Kakashi are talking quietly between themselves as they wait for her.

“Sorry,” she smiles sheepishly, “got side-tracked.”

“We figured,” Ensui drawls, “but take your time. We’re not in a rush.”

They continue their walk, and Miyu finds herself drawn to countless artisans.

“Kakashi-san, _look!_ ” she tugs at his sleeve, eyes bright as she points to the beautifully decorated kites at a rather busy vendor, “Oh, they’re stunning!”

She watches, feeling warm, as she watches a woman purchase one, handing it to a man who offers it to the little girl perched on his shoulders.

As a child she’d sometimes find the remains of broken winter kites left in the park. She did her best to repair them, but they never flew for her – well, not for long anyway.

They had been pretty, even while torn and missing pieces, half-soaked with slushy mud.

In their worst winters, Miyu had gathered as many as she could to use for kindling when their shabby house became so cold that her breath fogged before her, even under her threadbare blanket. She’d burn them for the few minutes of reprieve they brought.

Watching the soiled kites go up in flames had only made her cry the first few times.

“Miyu?”

Kakashi’s voice is low, and his soft touch at her elbow doesn’t startle her for once.

Blinking away the image of pretty wings set alight, Miyu realises her smile has fallen.

“Sorry,” she offers a quirk of her mouth, feeling terribly sorry for the little girl who cried over kites while her mother lay bloodied in the next room over.

Warm fingers under her chin, and Kakashi tilts her face up to him.

“Do you need to leave?” his voice is pitched low enough that she’s sure she’s the only one to hear it.

“No,” she smiles, but it wobbles so she stops. “I’m alright. Just remembered something sad.”

He takes in her face for another moment, and then his calloused touch is gone. Miyu looks to the ground, the slight weight of her earrings swaying unfamiliarly and brushing against her neck.

“Sake time?” Ensui’s voice cuts into the quiet between them, and Miyu nods immediately.

Sake. Yes.

They stop at a vendor selling warm sake and mochi, and Miyu gets a strawberry one. She, Kakashi and Ensui tap their little paper cups together, chorus, “Kampai!” and down their drinks like shots.

The familiar taste burns as it goes down, and Miyu finds herself blinking back tears at the sudden rush of memories with Kikyo. At last year’s winter festival in the capital, they’d cackled over cheap paper cups and chosen out the ugliest wooden souvenir they could find for Nanami.

They also chose her a beautiful necklace that Miyu had seen the geisha wearing more than once.

Sasuke joins them with another round, and Miyu downs it as easily as the first.

It doesn’t ease the stinging in her eyes or the burning at her throat.

A touch at her neck startles her out of her moping. Sasuke is standing closer now, hand outstretched to move her hair. He’s peering at her earrings – a single glass snowflake for each ear.

“These are pretty,” he comments, and the warmth from his fingers tickles at her ear as he inspects the little ornament. “Where did you get them?”

Itachi had bought them for her.

“They were a gift,” she says, ignoring the flush across the bridge of her nose at the thought.

Sasuke stares at them for another few moments before –

“Sa-su-ke!”

Shisui’s voice is loud, and when Miyu turns to look he’s waving his cast at them with a grin. Itachi is at his side, expression unreadable even as his gaze meets hers.

She smiles in greeting, but his eyes dart away before she can meet his gaze.

As they join the group, she takes in the very intentional placement of Kakashi between them and holds back a sigh. She wants more sake.

They join the others, have another round of drinks, and end up on Miyu’s balcony to view the fireworks.

She stands alone amongst the group, forearms leaning against her railing as she tilts her head back to gaze up at the huge expanse of navy above them. She’s watching as the first firework explodes in a dazzling array of white and blue.

The soft chatter around her fades away, and Miyu gets lost in the vibrant showers of blue and white and silver. The colours shimmer against the backdrop of stars and empty space, and she finds herself wishing for just one more festival back in the capital.

Just one more night when Nanami was home early enough that they could all go see the fireworks together.

One second of privacy, one more moment with Itachi before he got summoned away.

The last firework explodes in a huge shower of red sparks that has the crowd gasping in awe.

Miyu misses Nanami. She misses Kikyo.

She bites her lip, and shuts her eyes, because she misses Itachi, too. He’s barely a metre away, but he feels so _far_.

It only makes the ache in her chest fiercer as she recalls Masa’s words every new year.

_The way one spends the new year is an indication of the way one will spend the rest of the year, Miyu-chan. Spend it well, always._

“Miyu,” Itachi’s voice is low and smooth, and she lets herself _hope_ as he slants an unreadable look down at her.

And then he opens his mouth and says, “My parents have extended an invitation for you to dine at the compound in two days’ time.”

Oh.

Oh _no_.

.

When Miyu thinks about it, every major event attended by Nanami had incurred her rigorous ritual. No one mentioned the ritual at the Okiya, ever, lest they wish for Nanami’s full anxiety-induced nerves to swiftly whip at them.

Miyu had often prepared the bath water – adding flower petals and a specially prepared powder mixture to turn the surface milky. She had sat there, silently, watching as sleek, dark hair spooled in the scented water. Had brushed that hair out as many times as it took for the stiff line of Nanami’s shoulders to finally unwind.

Then she’d leave the room, returning to her own to practice openings. But she’d listen as the geisha practiced her laugh, her songs, a few melodic greetings.

As she readies the water for her own bath, Miyu holds those memories of Nanami close. Her gaze catches on dark petals as they release their gentle fragrance into the bath. She undresses slowly, tonight’s kimono already laid out on her bed for later.

She sinks into the heat, dunking her head and marvelling at the rich, silky feel of the water. Miyu lathers shampoo into her hair twice. Conditions the ends with a non-scented treatment that makes her tresses slip through her fingers into the bath.

When she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend that Nanami is with her. Every scent, every petal that brushes against the tops of her knees, every second spent letting the water unwind her tight muscles.

Nanami, here with her, helping her prepare for whatever tonight will throw at her.

When she ends her bath she leaves the petals in the tub and decides to save the cleaning until after she’s returned. She can do the whole house if she’s restless enough.

She towels her hair as much as she can, and stares down at her chosen outfit as she waits for it to dry enough for her to style.

The shopping trip she embarked on yesterday had been thankfully successful. She’s chosen a pale blue kimono, with a pretty, rather geometric pattern in white focused around the sleeves and lower hem. Her obi matches.

She knows it will make her appear cold and unreachable. It’s exactly the defence she wants.

Dressing slowly, she ensures each layer is perfect and comfortable. She wonders if this kimono will be ruined like her lilac one, and then forces the thought from her mind.

The lilac one had gone up in flames long before the Okiya.

She looks at her hair, and picks out a simple black hairpin without any adornments. It’s well made, weighty in her hand. Elegant and understated.

Tonight, she will keep her calm, and try to dissuade any negative preconceptions. She will hold her tongue as much as possible in the presence of the clan head and his wife.

She brushes her hair and begins the process of twisting her hair into a perfect, modest bun.

Sugawara Miyu is a civilian. Not geisha. Not ninja.

Sugawara Miyu holds herself with dignity and will conduct herself as such tonight.

When she’s done, she meets her own brown eyes in the reflection in her mirror. Her face is pale with the exception of a light pink tint to her cheeks from her bath. She forgoes makeup, deciding a bare-faced appearance will be truest to her character.

Before she leaves, she stands at her makeshift shrine in the living room and bows deeply.

“I carry you with me tonight,” she murmurs into the empty apartment.

She checks her kimono one more time to ensure it’s perfect.

The knock comes, and an Uchiha she’s never seen before leads the way to the compound.

Miyu takes a deep, calming breath, and follows.

.

The clan head’s house is traditional, large, and impeccably kept.

Miyu is led to the low table where she offers a deep bow, and takes her seat beside Itachi. Sasuke sits opposite him, and before Miyu the matriarch sits. Her makeup has been done artfully, highlighting her timeless beauty.

The woman’s kimono is one of the most exquisite things Miyu has ever seen. Rich purple silk accented with deep red intricacies. The sleeves are long and luxurious, and the cut of it is undoubtedly expensive.

Miyu struggles not to feel washed out and plain before such opulence.

“Good evening,” Uchiha Fugaku breaks the silence from where he is seated to Miyu’s right, at the head of the table.

“Good evening,” Miyu bows her head briefly, glad that she doesn’t sound as intimidated as she feels.

“I trust you had no issues finding your way here?” Uchiha Mikoto is smiling, but her eyes are cold.

“Not at all,” Miyu mirrors the expression directed at her, “your guide was very accommodating. Thank you for having me.”

“It is our _pleasure_.” The word drips with poison.

Miyu refuses to fidget as their trays are set before them. She allows herself only a moment to remember the order in which to eat. She’s done this a few times back in the early days of her time at the Okiya, when she was still receiving geisha training with Nanami.

Kaiseki was an expense that Mother typically preferred clientele to cover, so while Nanami was well practiced in the art of fine dining, Miyu _isn’t_.

She doesn’t need prior experience to know this spread is expensive. The appetizer sits beside three different types of sashimi and an array of seasonal vegetables. In the centre of the table sits grilled snow-crab, hot-pot with some kind of fish, an array of various meats, and soup.

It’s all displayed beautifully, with an elegance befitting of the head of this noble clan.

“We gratefully receive this meal,” says Uchiha Fugaku, voice low and deep.

The rest of the table repeats it, and they begin to eat.

“So,” Uchiha Mikoto’s dark eyes sweep the table, briefly before darting up to Miyu’s face, “we have heard that you teach at the shogi school, Sugawara-san.”

Miyu waits a beat to see if the woman is going to add anything before she responds with, “Yes, I teach the younger children.”

“Ah,” Mikoto nods, and after taking a delicate bite of sashimi says, “you must be talented.”

Unsure what angle to approach from, Miyu tries to stop herself overthinking. This is another game of sorts. She needs to treat it the same way she treats unplayed opponents.

“She is,” it’s Sasuke that speaks up, not shifting his gaze from the plate before him. “She’s the best player in the elemental nations.”

Deciding to eat a small mouthful of rice instead of address the topic, Miyu wonders why Itachi has barely seemed to breathe beside her.

“You play in official tournaments?” the matriarch raises her perfect brows, and sips delicately from a glass of water.

“Yes,” Miyu responds blandly.

“Ah… and how _do_ you make money, as a shogi champion?”

Miyu only blinks at the unassuming tone.

“I receive a stipend from the shogi association alongside prize money at every tournament.” She divulges before taking a sip of the rather exquisite tea.

“And should you fail to win a tournament, this income would disappear?”

Miyu’s neutral expression is polite. It helps her gain distance from the unease stirring in her chest.

“It would,” she confirms.

“Interesting,” says the Uchiha matriarch with a barbed smile. “That would be such a terrible shame for you. I can’t imagine the lengths you’d go to secure a stable future for yourself.”

Miyu continues eating as though the entire family isn’t analysing her every micro-reaction.

“I do not worry about my financial situation, Uchiha-sama,” she says evenly, and pointedly doesn’t look to Itachi’s silent form.

“Oh?” The woman looks intrigued, but Miyu offers no more information.

Let her _ask_.

The clan head clears his throat, and wisely changes topics to the state of trade in the village and the effects of the new Daimyo’s tax regime.

“The weapons tax is getting ridiculous,” Sasuke speaks up for the first time since he greeted her. “Namikaze-sama must be getting frustrated.”

“Perhaps,” Mikoto says, turning her eyes to Miyu, “and what do you think of the Daimyo?”

Taking a careful sip of tea, Miyu meets the woman’s predatory gaze evenly.

“It’s hard to say,” she smiles politely and hopes it’s not too sharp, “he’s younger than the late Daimyo. It’s rather too soon to make anything of him.”

_He’s young, foolish. Has not yet done anything of note, and may not be around long enough to accomplish a single thing._

A slow smile spreads on the painted lips of the matriarch and Miyu keeps herself steady under those sharp, dangerous eyes.

“A very diplomatic assessment,” Fugaku grunts, “I believe he will face much opposition soon. There are a few industries that may soon face collapse under pressure from his regime.”

“Probably the arts,” Sasuke says, sighing, “but I hear land tax is skyrocketing.”

“And your thoughts, Sugawara-san?” Mikoto draws her into the fold again.

“The possibility of Fire facing an economic crisis soon is very real,” Miyu agrees mildly.

“You are educated on the economy?” The matriarch questions, and if Miyu hadn’t seen Nanami feign innocence with the same finesse, Mikoto might have had a chance of appearing genuinely surprised, “I thought you just worked in an Okiya, dear.”

Miyu indulges in just one, slow blink.

Of course this woman has done her research.

“I managed the financials,” she hopes she manages keeps the dryness out of her tone, “as well as the correspondence and inventory.”

The woman blinks and Miyu thinks she may have actually surprised her, but she wouldn’t bet on it.

“I’m rather lucky my own investments do not rely on just one trade,” she holds tight to the urge to gloat, and keeps her voice soft and unassuming, “an old friend once told me to never keep my eggs in one basket.”

The woman opposite her narrows her eyes just a fraction, and Miyu’s heart almost _stops_. She’s hasn’t felt terror this real since the night of the fire, since she realised she was trapped with black smoke rising around her ankles and –

Taking a slow, steady breath, she pushes it down. Hides it beneath her careful, practiced smile, the smooth motion of reaching for her teacup again, the rustle of her sleeves as she moves.

It eases off so sharply she almost gasps.

She doesn’t, though. Only sips at her tea, and lowers her gaze, hoping that her hand doesn’t tremble as she sets the cup back down.

Itachi is so still beside her he could be a statue. His eyes are locked to his untouched tray, and if it wouldn’t draw attention, she’d reach out to him.

But here, with three pairs of overly observant eyes on her, she settles for keeping calm and taking this interrogation in stride. It’s the only way she knows how to show them she’s not what they think she is.

“Investments?” Mikoto continues as though her eyes hadn’t just made Miyu feel like she was about to die.

“Yes,” Miyu doesn’t intend to be inflammatory, but she thinks the slight cock to her head when she asks, “are clans familiar with it?” might just set the woman’s blood alight.

The matriarch’s smile is tight.

“We have no need for them,” she says, because rubbing their generational wealth in Miyu’s face seems to make her feel like they’re even, “but yes, we are familiar.”

Again, Miyu doesn’t elaborate on her own business despite the expectant look Mikoto is giving her.

But Miyu won’t do what they want her to do. Refuses to let them push her around. Can’t let them have any more control in this situation where it’s blatantly obvious that they hold _all_ the power.

She may be worthless to these ninja, with ancestors that co-founded the village whose walls protect them even as they sit around this traditional dinner table. But she won’t let _anyone_ dictate her next move.

Sasuke is the first to turn his gaze from her, and she reads something like an apology in his body language.

“Stop this, Mikoto,” Fugaku’s voice is low, “let us end dinner in peace.”

Miyu watches as the matriarch turns her steely gaze to the clan head. They have a battle with just their eyes, and she’s so focused on observing them that she almost starts when Mikoto speaks.

“Just one more thing, Sugawara-san.”

Husband and wife are still locked in a staring competition.

“Tell me why you’re here.”

Miyu stays still, hands folded in her lap as those dark, heavy eyes land on her again.

“Because it seems to me that a woman with _nothing_ ,” she grits her teeth around the word, “is aiming higher than her station. Threatening the stability and legacy of an ancient clan. Trying to usurp the rightful matriarch-”

“ _Enough_.”

Itachi’s voice is so cold Miyu almost flinches. His mother does, even as her jaw snaps shut and clenches.

The heavy silence doesn’t get any lighter.

“Thank you for the meal,” Miyu says, proud that her voice maintains the same level of polite calm despite the swiftly rising tension in the room. Of course, she can’t leave without retaliating to accusations that she never got the chance to defend herself against.

“You have honoured me with your hospitality.”

She pushes back from the table, bows low, and then stands gracefully and leaves the room with the family still sitting very, very still.

It feels as though she’s walking away from a shogi board mid-game, just as she was gaining the upper hand.

Incomplete.

She lets herself out and barely makes it ten steps from the front door before Shisui appears suddenly beside her.

Strung tight as she is, she jolts and almost stumbles, but doesn’t scream. It’s an improvement.

“How did it go?” he asks with an easy smile that doesn’t reach his observant eyes.

Miyu presses her lips together and chooses not to comment. He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t felt she sharp spike in tension that had made her feel like she was going to _die_ in that dining room.

“That bad, huh?”

Miyu keeps quiet, breathing a little easier as they step outside the compound’s gates.

“It was a pleasant evening,” she says after too long a gap.

Shisui barks out a laugh, running his good hand through his wild hair as he slants her a fond look.

“Ever the diplomat, Miyu-chan. It’s alright. You can be honest.”

Her jaw clenches involuntarily and it takes her a moment to school her expression again.

“I was offered the finest hospitality by the Uchiha clan head and his honourable matriarch.” She says, unable to smooth the stiffness out of her tone.

Shisui’s smile drops. 

“Miyu-”

He cuts himself off, head whipping to the road ahead of them, and Miyu follows his gaze as it lands on –

Itachi.

“I, uh. I just remembered I need to water my plants. Bye.”

And Shisui disappears in a flash.

Miyu continues walking, not stopping even as she reaches Itachi. He falls into step alongside her, silent and brooding.

When she enters her apartment, he steps in behind her.

She goes into her room, and then into her ensuite, without sparing a glance for where he remains standing in the entrance.

She brushes her teeth and washes her face. Decides to take a quick shower, and dresses in her pastel yellow sleep yukata.

When she exits her room, Itachi is leaning against the back of her couch, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he stares at the row of barstools opposite him.

“I’m sorry,” his voice is so soft she has to strain to hear it even in the silence of her apartment.

Miyu says nothing, waiting.

“I allowed her free reign to ask you anything.”

Ah. Of course he did.

“I didn’t know she was going to do _that_.” His nostrils flare briefly, jaw clenching as he visibly reigns in his anger.

“I should have spoken up sooner. I’m sorry, Miyu.”

She takes in a deep breath, and when she exhales, she lets go of her anger at being put on the spot without any assistance.

He continues speaking, voice low and without inflection, “I understand if you’re angry.”

 _Really_.

Miyu swallows down the surge of indignation and runs a hand through her loose hair, “I’m a little tired of having to prove to everyone that I’m not some-”

She takes another slow breath and releases it sharply. “Some homewrecker – clan-wrecker, whatever.”

He hasn’t shifted his stare from the stools.

“I am the clan heir,” he says it monotonously, “I cannot change that.”

Miyu presses her lips together, and then says, “I know.”

“My family has made it clear that they will not make this easy.”

She almost laughs at that.

“I believe it may be best to continue our friendship at its existing pace.”

Miyu blinks once. Twice. Struggles desperately to hang on to her composure as he pushes off the couch and turns his back to her.

“What.” The word is flat, even as she feels her panic rising with every step he takes towards the door, “Itachi, wait-”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and he’s still _ignoring_ her, damn it -

“Please-” she takes a step after him, suddenly desperately afraid that he’ll leave and never return.

Still, he keeps walking.

“ _Look at me!_ ” Her voice raises and cracks, and she’s shaking – with anger and frustration and want, all the things she never lets herself show.

His back stiffens at the sound of her shout, and she watches as he turns slowly, entire body poised to blur into motion at a moment’s notice.

“I’m so tired,” she’s crying, she realises, eyes stinging and sight blurring as she forces the words out of her too-tight throat.

“Miyu…”

His voice is soft as he steps closer, like he hasn’t just told her that they’ll have to continue this stupid game forever, skirting around the topic like it’s not glaringly obvious every time they’re in each other’s vicinity.

“I _hate_ this – that you – you keep me in the dark,” she has to pause, breathe around the hitch in her tone, “I feel like I’m blindly fumbling like a fool, wondering at your every action.”

Her tears feel hot against her skin, and her gaze falls to the floor between them.

“I don’t know what your plan is, whether this is just some kind of game I haven’t been aware that we were playing.”

Miyu swallows against the strain of her voice, and takes a step until they’re close enough that she has to look up to meet his eye.

“I’ve had enough,” she rasps, tone wavering as she reaches out slowly, “of pretending I don’t want this.”

She knows he’s aware of her every move, that he can probably hear the beating of her heart, smell the salt of her tears.

But he remains in place as her hand curls into the collar of his stupid clan shirt.

Lets her pull him down until their faces are inches apart.

“I don’t care about your clan.” Her breath ghosts over his lips, hand shaking as it fists tighter, no doubt uncomfortable for him now.

“I don’t – I don’t want their money.” Her voice is quivering but she tries to convey how much she _means_ this. “I don’t want their power or their protection.”

She watches his pupils as they dilate, and knows hers are doing the same. Feels her breath hitch, even as she raises herself up on her toes.

Her lips skim the corner of his mouth, and she shuts her eyes as she murmurs –

“I want _you_ , Itachi.”

And then he shifts, and Miyu makes a small, choked sound as their lips meet.

He tastes like green tea and dango, a spark igniting the countless doubts in her mind, burning them away to nothing in a single moment.

Miyu knows she’s got no hope here.

Because kissing Itachi? It makes the tears on her cheeks tingle, and the feel of his tongue against hers and cool, calloused hands at her face sends her stomach swooping.

She’s warm, alive, out of control but not _without_ control, and immediately she knows this will become a vice because how could it possibly _not_?

His hands are on her, one woven into her hair now as the other settles on her ass to hold her against his firm chest. Knees unsteady, her fingers thread into his hair, gripping hard as she presses herself against him with a moan.

She squeaks against his mouth as he hoists her up by the single hand under her ass, her legs hurrying to wrap around his waist as her back meets the wall.

He pulls away just far enough to meet her glassy gaze.

“You have _no idea_ ,” gods, she can feel his breath fanning against her lips, “how much I want you.”

His eyes are dark and beautiful and focused so intently. On _her_.

“Itachi-”

She’s cut off by the blare of a siren – an alarm, she realises with rising dread as it echoes through the streets of the village.

Itachi sets her down swiftly, face suddenly grave as he looks out the balcony doors with a frown.

“What-”

“Stay here,” he says, Sharingan activating as makes a few hand signs. A katana pops into existence and he straps it to his back with swift, practiced movements. In the dark of her apartment his eyes glow red.

“Itachi, what-”

“Please,” he steps towards, leans in, and captures her lips with his for one desperate second before he pulls away. “Say inside. I have to go.”

And between one blink and the next, Itachi disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miyu and Itachi finally kiss!! The emotion!! The drama!! The s-  
> Siren: pack it up folks we got some plot to roll out 
> 
> there will definitely be more clan/politics shit upcoming, so if this bullshit bores you then soz lol 
> 
> Up next: 
> 
> hobbies!!! 
> 
> cute secret notes! *disclaimer: this is not gon be what you think it is lol
> 
> the joys of living in a military dictatorship


	12. lynchpins and liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can she get just one moment of peace? No racing thoughts, no politics, and definitely no lightning jutsu. 
> 
> Miyu needs a lengthy nap, and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey loves! 
> 
> Back at it again and i'm super happy that i've managed stick to my updating schedule!
> 
> Thank you again to all that have left kudos and comments as well as bookmarked this fic. I really appreciate the engagement of my readers, and I'm so happy you gave this fic a shot! 
> 
> Big big big thanks to my love and irl friend Rachael, who has supported me through this fic even when she's got so much going on in her own life. You all owe her a solid fr 
> 
> Next update will be on 17/03, hope to see you guys back then!
> 
> Enjoy :)

Miyu stands outside the building, hands tucked into the warm sleeves of her yukata as she waits for the doors to open.

“What time does the class start?” the sudden voice to her left has her jolting in place, and when she half-turns she sees a woman standing beside her. She’s peering at the door before them, a thin brow raised as she places her hands on her hips.

“Twelve-thirty,” Miyu says once she’s found her voice.

The woman turns to her, long red hair swaying only slightly with the movement.

“Ah, it’s almost time. Hopefully they haven’t pushed it back after that whole drama last night, eh?”

Miyu smiles politely, and points at the notice posted in a window to the left of the door.

“I believe the owner just had to step out for a moment.” The notice says nothing about last night, but that’s not unusual.

“I really hate that damn alarm,” the woman huffs, “been tellin’ Minato to disable it and let me apply a chakra alert system. No point lettin’ intruders know you’re on to them.”

Miyu cocks her head, eyeing the woman curiously, “That seems logical,” she comments, “that way ninja will be alerted without waking the majority of the village.”

The woman nods, and then pouts, “Ah. But in cases of _actual_ intrusions, it’s probably best to have all civilians up and aware of the situation.”

Miyu hums in agreement, looking back to the door before them, “You’re right.”

“So,” the woman’s gaze is on Miyu now, “this your first calligraphy class?”

“Yes,” she offers a polite smile, “I’ve been looking forward to it for a little while.”

“Iori-sensei is just the best,” the woman beams, and Miyu finds herself blinking against the sheer positivity she radiates. Oddly, she feels a sense of déjà vu.

Before she can place it, a grey-haired woman – Iori-sensei, Miyu realises – arrives, and unlocks the door. 

Miyu and the woman file in behind her.

The room they’re led to is traditional. Tatami floors, thin sliding doors, and low tables set an even distance from each other.

“Take a seat,” Iori-sensei says with a smile, and Miyu tentatively settles down beside the only other present classmate.

In the back right hand corner of the room, she watches with interest as the woman unpacks her own paper, brushes, and ink.

Miyu begins to pull her own things from the satchel she’s brought along, glad that she took the time to invest in a few good-quality wares.

“Ah… Sugawara-san, was it?” Iori-sensei approaches her with a smile.

“Yes…?” Miyu smiles politely, puzzled.

“You don’t wish to sit closer to the front, dear?”

Miyu’s lip twitches, and she wonders who this red-haired woman is, to garner this… defensiveness? From the teacher.

“Ah, I’d prefer to stay at the back,” she confesses with a placating smile, “but I can move across if you’d like?”

“Leave her, Iori-sensei,” the woman is already absorbed in grinding her ink, tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth as she narrows violet eyes at the stone.

The teacher bows and offers no further explanation as she retreats to the front of the room. Miyu sits in silence as the other members of the class file in.

Today will be her first attempt at a new hobby. Shogi – well, it’s everything to her. But her discussion with the Nara has made her realise that her prospects for the time being aren’t great. She doesn’t know when, or if, she will ever play in tournaments again.

A small part of her acknowledges that shogi is tied intimately to traumatic parts of her life. She loves it, she’ll always love it, but the thought of working on other skills isn’t unwelcome.

Itachi’s close brush with death had made her realise her dependence on him, made her realise how much she misses her friends from the flower districts. Perhaps she will make a few acquaintances in this class, and be less reliant on Itachi and people who associate with her because of him.

Women trickle in, and Miyu watches them from beneath her lashes as she grinds her own ink, careful to keep her sleeves clean.

“Today,” begins Iori-sensei without fanfare, “we will introduce ourselves to the kanji that make up our names.”

Miyu watches as the woman holds her sleeve in place with one hand while her other guides a beautiful brush in sweeping, practiced lines.

“Mariko is my given name,” their instructor says as she sets aside her brush. Slowly, she lifts her paper, and Miyu admires the traditionally styled characters.

“Using the characters for ‘real’, ‘village’ and ‘child’, I have given each consistency to align with my own attempts at a steady and calm peace of mind.”

Miyu watches as she sets the work down, offering the class a smile.

“Today I don’t want you to think about the technicalities of calligraphy. Today, I want you to _feel_ your name, the ink, the paper. Use the brush to communicate who you are through your name.”

Miyu presses her lips together, sceptical. _Feel_ her name. Right.

She looks down at her blank parchment, and wishes desperately for the comforting grid of her shogi board. Swallowing down her hesitance, Miyu picks up her brush, and dips it in ink.

Her hand remains hovering over the page as she tries to _think_.

_Mi,_ written as _beautiful_ , because whoever named her between her absent minded mother and her drunken father, had been as unoriginal as anything.

_Yu,_ written as _excellence_ , and Miyu again wonders who selected it for her. Maybe the registration office, or perhaps one of the harried, home-taught midwives who no doubt helped birth her.

“It’s gonna drip all over your page if you leave it any longer,” the red-haired woman murmurs, eyes not straying from her own ink-stroked page.

Miyu converts her surprised jerk into a movement that places her brush back over the ink stone, and hopes her cheeks aren’t flushed.

“Don’t think about it so hard,” the woman says, sparing Miyu a slim slip of a bright smile, “just write your name how you like to see it, for now.”

Miyu swallows again, nodding. She picks up her brush, mindful of her sleeves again, and dips into the ink once more.

Without giving herself time to hesitate, she lets her arm guide the brush.

The characters form in thick, even lines, until her name is glistening up at her wetly.

She sets the brush back down, and suppresses a wince as she looks at her work. It’s neat. That’s all she can say for it right now.

There’s no artful flare that had been so distinct in Iori-sensei’s work, nor any of the finesse of the woman beside her, who seems to be drawing circular diagrams of sorts.

It’s almost a direct conversion of how she would write her name with a pen. Plain, and rather boring to look at.

Gods, she should have just stuck to shogi.

“Not bad,” says the woman beside her, looking away from her work for the first time. “You have a steady hand, and your pressure on the brush is consistent.”

“Thank you,” Miyu tries not to cringe looking at the fast drying ink, “I think it’s rather lacking, but I suppose I’m taking this class for a reason.”

“Hah!” the woman explodes in a laugh so loud that half the class startles. A few women turn around with a scowl, and Miyu exudes a slight, polite smile, and an air of apology as they do. She wouldn’t have wanted to be jolted mid-brushstroke either.

“Right you are,” the woman is smiling at the side of her face, and Miyu feels rather like the sun is hot against her skin. “You’ll only get better – Miyu-san, is it?”

Embarrassed that the woman is reading her rather lacklustre calligraphy, Miyu nods.

“Thank you…”

The woman blinks for a moment, seemingly surprised at having to introduce herself.

“Kushina,” she replies with an easy smile. It’s beautiful, creasing the slight lines around her mouth and the outer corners of her eyes. Miyu wonders if she’ll ever smile enough to have lines of her own one day.

“Thank you, Kushina-san,” she bows slightly, “I will work hard to improve.”

They write their names a few more times, and then start writing assigned words. Around forty minutes in, most of the class are talking between themselves in low voices.

Miyu listens to them chat about their children, or upcoming dates. Part of her is comforted by the sheer civilian mundanity that settles around her.

Another part, a smaller part, whispers that she’s never been one of them, can never be like any of these women.

She’s grown up in dark, forgotten places, abandoned by the educated, the rich, those with any other options.

Her eyes skim the room, and she wonders if any of these women know what it’s like to be five, starving and cold and alone, or twelve, grief-stricken and afraid.

She guesses that the only point of similarity may lie in being sold. Miyu, at least, was not under any illusions that night outside the Okiya. But some of these women, talking and laughing and discussing their upcoming weddings? Have some of them been sold by their clans, or by the men in their lives?

The thought only makes her unsettled, so she pushes it away.

Miyu doesn’t fit with these people.

But… she doesn’t quite fit with ninja, either.

Once, she would have fit in the cracks that she’d been born in, but she’ll never return to those if she gets a say in it.

Sighing softly, she packs her things and neatly tucks away her discomfort. Yesterday has her rattled still, and it infuriates her to no end. Itachi hadn’t returned last night, and she had only heard that the alarm had been falsely triggered by Chikako at an early hour of the morning.

Spotting the little crow on her balcony had almost brought her to tears – Miyu hadn’t seen her since before the fire, before Konoha. Probably an intentional move by Itachi, but gods, had she missed the summons.

“My dear Mi-chan,” Chikako had nuzzled her smooth, soft head into Miyu’s palm, “I can only stay long enough to reassure you that Itachi is fine, and that the village has been cleared as safe.”

“Thank you,” Miyu spoke around the lump in her throat with difficulty, “I’ve missed you, Chikako-san.”

The bird blinked at her once with those beady black eyes, and with one more nuzzle to her palm, disappeared.

“Lovely to make your acquaintance, Kushina-san,” Miyu bows to her briefly as the woman breaks into a wide smile.

“You too, Miyu-san!”

With that, she begins the walk to the shogi school, feeling off-balance from that evening, and her revelations in the class. Civilians – those outside the flower districts – have never been quite like her. But the thought of walking into a club that’s not Rin’s makes her chest ache, so she dismisses the idea before it gets the chance to cross her mind properly.

Her thoughts drift instead, to the pinboard she so often frequents when delivering lunch to Itachi. So much crime, in such a prosperous village. Most of it located in and around the flower district and it’s surrounding areas. Drugs, disappearances, and – missing children.

Konoha, she thinks grimly, has deep, dark cracks – just like any other city.

Miyu enters the courtyard, smiling at the gate guard distractedly.

She’d think nothing of this interaction usually.

But the guard’s returned smile catches her eye.

In the weeks that Miyu’s been teaching here, the guard rotations have been constant. A squad of nine ninja operating in teams of three, switching once a day on rotation. She doesn’t know their names, with the exception of Hiyori-san, a friendly chunin woman who sometimes helps her clean up.

They chat occasionally, and Miyu likes to think her an acquaintance by now.

This ninja, though. He’s middle aged, with a deep scar stemming from the corner of his mouth to his ear in a pale white line. His face remains impassive, even when children start petty squabbles, or when his teammates grin at him.

Miyu’s never seen so much as a twitch from his stony countenance.

She tries not to do a double take at the sight of his straight white teeth.

Odd.

Gods, is she that distracted from yesterday? She needs to get a _grip_.

She sets up the courtyard, readying her chalk board and placing the shogi sets on the tables. She uses the time to ground herself, knowing that she must be put together by the time her class arrives.

The children file in, chattering between themselves as they settle in their usual places.

“Good afternoon,” Miyu calls over the noise, “please be seated and we’ll begin today’s session. If anyone is cold, raise your hand at any time and I’ll bring you a blanket.”

They take their seats and Miyu hands out around five blankets before she begins.

“Today,” she finds her gaze drawn by the figure of Hiyori-san, who seems to be staring at the children from the cover of the surrounding path. “We will be learning a few basic openings. Can anyone tell me what an opening is?”

Seven little arms raise, and Miyu points to a girl towards the back left of the boards.

“Openings are the name for the first few moves of a game,” she says with a bashful smile. Her dimpled cheeks flush pink and Miyu lets herself think _‘cute’_ for just a moment before she responds.

“Correct, Hanabi-chan! Openings are important because they allow you to set the tone of the game you want to play.”

She looks over the bright little faces, and picks one.

“Giyu-kun,” the boy settles his solemn gaze on her, and she refrains the urge to storm over and squish his cheeks. “We spoke about this last week. Do you remember the different playing styles we went over?”

He nods, and speaks up in his high-pitched, grave voice, “Yes, sensei. We spoke about aggressive openers, and defensive openers. I… I know you mentioned a few others, but I cannot recall.”

He looks like that upsets him.

“Well done, Giyu-kun. I certainly mentioned offensive and defensive opens. I also mentioned other tactical openings, but today we will only be going over three or four very simple ones.”

She smiles at him and he nods, shoulders easing out of their short, tense line.

“I’m going to come around to each of your tables with a few different games. I want you to move your pieces according to the paper I hand you. While you play the game out, pay attention to where the paper is telling you to move, understood?”

They nod, and she reaches for the stack of papers on her own shogi table.

“Let me know when you finish playing this game out, and I will assign you another.”

She walks between the tables, handing each student a slip of paper. As she passes the eastern side of the courtyard, she notices Hiyori-san still watching.

“Raise your hand if you have any questions,” Miyu says, and then smiles, “you may begin.”

She wanders over to the female guard, cocking her head curiously. Something about today hasn’t felt right, and it’s not just the aftermath of last night. It can’t be.

“Everything okay, Hiyori-san?”

As she nears, she notes the slight slant of the woman’s shoulders, the miniscule downturn of her lips.

“Yes,” she says, offering a smile.

Miyu doesn’t ask why she’s watching class today instead of their surroundings. Instead, she decides to ask a simple question.

“How is Toru-san? Still running around like a madman?” she pairs it with an empathetic smile, and watches as Hiyori raises a hand to brush her sandy blonde hair behind an ear.

Miyu’s eyes catch on three things.

First, Hiyori-san’s ears are unblemished. Not a single speck of jewellery, nor indication of a piercing in sight. When Miyu last saw her, she had two piercings in each ear, and quirky, mismatched earrings in each.

Second, the woman’s left hand – the one she used to shift her hair – is… tanned. Well, tanned with the exception of a few pale bands around her fingers. Konoha has not had sun strong enough to leave an impression within the four days since she last saw her.

And third, the woman’s beauty mark – a tiny brown speck, just to the corner of her mouth – is on the _wrong side of her face_.

“Of course, he is,” Hiyori-san says with an exasperated smile, “he never stops, that man!”

Miyu takes care not to let her open, friendly expression tighten. Because Hiyori-san’s dear boyfriend Toru-san had only been running around so frantically because he was busy preparing for the new year festival. As the inheritor of a famous wagashi store, he had been doggedly preparing for the influx of orders.

But Hiyori-san has expressed _twice_ to Miyu that she can’t wait for the two-week break he will be taking after the festival.

Swallowing down her dread, she shakes her head and huffs out a laugh, “That man! If his sweets weren’t so wonderful, I’d force him to take a break myself!”

Hiyori-san laughs, and it sounds husky and nothing at all like her usual clear, high tone.

“Ah, I believe the little… Hyuuga, was it? Is requesting assistance.”

The ninja nods towards the class, and Miyu offers a quick grin before hurrying over to the children.

Her chest feels too tight, throat unbearably dry, and it takes effort not to let her hands shake.

Okay. Two guards, out of the three on duty. Two that aren’t who they appear to be.

“What does this mean, sensei?” asks Hyuuga Junpei politely, pointing to the paper she had handed out.

“This move uses a pawn to protect a more valuable piece,” she says, glad that her voice doesn’t sound as strangled as she feels. “It’s known as a defensive tactic.”

“But sensei,” he looks up at her with his milky white gaze, brows furrowed, “if it gets captured, can’t Shota-kun use it as part of his attack?”

Heart in her throat, Miyu manages a nod. Captured pieces, defensive pawns, _shit_.

The game today is not being played out on a board before her.

Miyu is a pawn in a field of more valuable pieces.

Miyu is a pawn that must be the lynchpin in their defence.

“But you see,” she only sounds a little strained, “if the pawn is taken, it gives the more valuable piece time to move, or better yet, stage a scenario to capture the opponent’s piece. This is what we call a counter-attack.”

The boy nods his understanding, and Miyu lets her gaze roam over the rest of the class. On the western side of the courtyard she can see another ninja standing, watching the children.

_Shit_. Three who aren’t as they appear.

Miyu takes a deep breath. Squashes down her rising panic, and forces herself to _think_.

A plan begins to form, dependent on too many variables for her to back with complete certainty. Right now, though, it’s outweighing the other scenarios playing out in her head.

Nara Hiro has raised his hand.

She grabs her notebook from her table, and makes her way to him and his partner and finds that they’ve played their way through their game.

Miyu flips her book open and pencils in a few notes on the games she had written earlier. She mostly just adds their names and a few tips on how they might want to adapt the game, but she spends the extra time doing it.

She must establish a pattern in her own behaviour first.

The second pair raises their hands, and Miyu repeats the process with them. She takes her time adding a few comments along the sides of the page, allowing the brief, bright smile of Uchiha Sayuri to settle her nerves somewhat.

Her gaze scans the class as she looks for the perfect candidate.

If these ninja are hostile, they very well may be linked to the alarm last night. If they somehow ended up here, they’re smart enough to have evaded capture.

There’s only one reason _why_ they are here.

Miyu is the lone adult responsible for twenty children.

Miyu is the lone _civilian_ adult responsible for twenty _ninja_ children.

Miyu is the lone _helpless civilian_ adult responsible for twenty _ninja_ children, _twelve_ of which belong to _clans_.

They will act before the children’s parents or clan retainers return to pick them up. Miyu has less than forty minutes to execute her plan.

Still, she bides her time as the class goes on.

_Come on, come on, come on_ –

The candidate cannot be clan.

_Please, just raise your hand – one of you, come on –_

The candidate cannot be civilian.

_Gods, please –_

The candidate must be one of the three children in the class who belong to no clan, but are generational ninja all the same.

_Thirty minutes left, shit – oh!_

Tsunemori Akihiko raises his hand. Miyu tries to quieten the suddenly deafening beat of her heart as she approaches him and his partner.

“Good work,” she smiles at them both, and then begins the process of writing in the notebook. She hands each child their slip of paper, and meanders back through the rows, observing the ongoing games as she goes.

Five minutes pass, and she resolutely does not offer Akihiko’s table more than a cursory once-over.

Finally, _finally_ , he raises his hand.

“Yes, Akihiko-kun?” she hopes her voice doesn’t convey her bone-deep terror.

One slip and she might be dead. Just _one_ suspicious word, and these children will be too far out of reach for her flimsy defence.

“Ano, sensei – remember last week, my mama told you I had to leave early? That’s today, and she said to be back by two-forty-five.”

Miyu frowns for a moment, opening her book to last week.

“Ah!” she shuts it and offers an apologetic smile, “I forgot! I’m sorry, Akihiko-kun – thank you for reminding me.”

“It was no trouble sensei,” he smiles up at her shyly, pressing his index fingers together bashfully. “I – I really want to stay, but mama told me not to be late.”

For the first time since her arrival in Konoha, Miyu is grateful for the early training of their children.

“You better hurry now,” she smiles as she reaches out to pat his head, “well done today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hn!” he nods, cheeks flushing, and leaves the courtyard with a bounce to his step. Bless him.

Miyu looks to his partner – Aburame Shizuka and reopens her notebook to write down a simple game.

“Here you go,” she hands it to the girl with a small genuine smile. The child doesn’t smile back, and Miyu can’t quite make out her expression behind her high-collared jacket.

The Aburame accepts the sheet of paper and begins resetting the board.

Miyu turns to help a pair of civilian children, taking care to talk slowly and explain properly. Gods, she’s _trembling_. She struggles to keep her breaths steady and even as the minutes continue to tick away.

There’s still twenty minutes of class left. They must be ready to act soon, before the parents would notice.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Hiyori-san nod to someone she can’t see, and step forward.

“Grab the H-”

“Hiyori-san!” Miyu waves the woman over, interrupting whatever command she was about to give.

“How rude of me, I forgot to congratulate you on your engagement!”

The pretender is blank for a moment. Then, like someone flicking a switch, they smile brightly.

“Thank you! I was so surprised!”

_You would be_ , Miyu thinks dryly, _you’ve only been dating for three months, and he definitely hasn’t proposed._

“Oh, how romantic! Iori-san was telling me all about it in class today – she said she saw it happen,” Miyu imitates the smile she’d seen on the faces of those carefree civilian women. Open and loose, showing altogether too much emotion. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you,” the response is short, and Miyu can see her forming a hand-sign for a signal to her partners no doubt.

_No, no, no – shit –_

She needs to stall them, right here, right now. No one’s here yet that she can tell and _shit_ , the other ninja is stepping out of the shade –

“Well class!” Miyu turns to her students with a clap. “You’ve all been so well behaved today, so we’re going to play a game of…”

She trails off, hand beside her ear to hear them yell, “ _Hat shogi!_ ”

The class breaks into chaos as the children frantically pack their shogi sets. Most of them are chattering, some are screeching in delight, and a fair few have packed their things in seconds and are waiting patiently in a line for her to hand out the hats.

“Come along now!” Miyu yells over the din, eyeing the frozen ninja as the children run between tables, laughing and screeching in excitement.

Miyu grabs the basket she stowed beneath her table and begins to hand out the hats. Some of the rowdier children are play-fighting with imaginary swords, a group of girls are chattering to each other about pawn attacks, and a few of the quieter clan kids are grouped together.

She approaches them, heart in her throat. Sees the moment Hiyori-san shifts in the same way Itachi does before he blurs into movement.

Miyu shoves the group of children behind her, adrenaline surging as the ninja flickers into existence too close for comfort, arm half-extended.

“What is your purpose here?” Miyu demands over the ecstatic laughter and yelling from the rest of the still ignorant class.

She feels a tiny hand tug at her sleeve, and carefully pushes the skinny little arm out of sight.

Gods, her body will never be enough to shield them from danger. Not with Hiyori-san’s dark blue gaze so cold and empty.

“Some of these children have been summoned urgently,” the woman says flatly.

Miyu levels her with a stony glare, “These children are to be collected by retainers of their clans _only_.”

“I’m following protocol,” Hiyori snaps, but there’s a different sound to her voice now, sharper and harsher, like the accents of passing travellers back in the flower districts, “now move aside, civilian, before I-”

“No Konoha protocol calls for the summoning of five-year-old children,” Miyu interrupts her sharply, “so I’ll ask again, ninja-san. What is your purpose here?”

There are a few tense moments of silence between them. And then a smirk spreads on Hiyori’s face, so unlike any expression the woman has made before that it sets the hairs on the back of Miyu’s neck upright.

“Ya know what we do to unruly civilians where I’m from, _sensei_?” the voice is no longer Hiyori’s. It’s husky and deeper, accent distinctly northern, “It’s a neat ol’ thing called electro therapy.”

The woman raises a tanned hand, and Miyu doesn’t flinch as yellow sparks dance across her palm, “It only hurts a little. Might leave you drooling for the rest of your sad life, but hey- _fuck!_ ”

Miyu later learns that the clan children behind her began flaring their chakra in tandem for an emergency at that moment. She also later learns that her guess that they would try to take a Hyuuga first was correct.

The hand she had thrown out to block the woman’s path to the boy had come into contact with fake-Hiyori’s sparking fingers, and Miyu had dropped in an instant.

She learns that Akihiko had successfully alerted the Konoha Military Police, and that they were setting up a defensive perimeter in the likely occasion of an escape attempt in the time Miyu was fretting over her last few minutes.

With the children flaring their chakra, it had taken only seconds for the ninja – Miyu is told there were four, not three – to be swarmed by Konoha’s significant specialised takedown force.

She only learns it, however, a day later.

But on that day, Miyu wakes blearily to a cloudy sky, placed carefully in the recovery position. Shisui is crouching before her, a rare, concerned frown on his face.

“Miyu,” he says, voice low.

She can hear the children crying, and wonders how much time she lost.

“Shisui, the Hyuuga-”

“Safe,” he says shortly, reaching forward to press his fingers at her neck, feeling for her pulse. “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head and extends an arm in a plea for assistance. One handed, he pulls her gently upright. She sits for a moment, blinking though a bout of nausea, hoping she doesn’t throw up before what appears to be a large number of Konoha Military Police members.

“How many fingers am I holding up right now?” he asks without any of his usual humour.

“Two,” she responds, wincing at her pounding headache, “I’m alright, really.”

His countenance doesn’t change.

“Shisui, what-”

“Stand up,” comes a stern voice from behind her, “raise your hands beside your head and turn around slowly.”

Miyu freezes for only a moment. Meets Shisui’s grave eyes, and decides to keep her mouth shut as she does so.

Four ninja are facing her, weapons drawn. Behind them she can see her class behind herded away from the scene.

“Sugawara Miyu,” says a man she’s seen three or four times at the station in passing, “you are under arrest pending the investigation of the infiltrators. Konoha reserves the right to detain you indefinitely. We ask that you cooperate with questioning.”

.

“Tan lines.”

“What.”

Miyu holds back a sigh, already straining not to wince under the fluorescent lights. Her headache is sharp, focused on the base of her skull, just above her neck, and at her temples.

Her hand – the one the ninja touched – has been spasming sporadically for the three hours she’d been detained.

“Hiyori-san – or whoever was impersonating her – had tan lines on their fingers, from rings, I’m guessing.”

Miyu hopes she doesn’t sound as tired as she feels.

“Her piercings were gone. And the beauty mark on the left side of her mouth was actually on her right.”

The stern-faced officer sitting opposite her narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly.

“And these changes made you realise the guard rotation had been infiltrated?”

Miyu does let herself sigh, though it’s small.

“I already let Yamanaka-san perform their technique,” she hopes the headache and itchy eyes will go away soon. “Do you require an additional retelling?”

The officer stares at her for a few moments, and then says, “No, that will not be necessary.”

Miyu meets his dark-eyed gaze evenly, bemoaning the finer details of military dictatorships. What are her rights, here and now? She probably doesn’t have any.

“Anything else important you believe would benefit the investigation?” the officer doesn’t seem particularly interested in whether she answers. She hopes they’re at the bottom of a long list of questions they are required to ask her before she can get released.

“Yes, actually,” Miyu blinks slowly, wondering how long it will take until she can go home, shower, and lie down in a very, very dark room.

“The one impersonating Hiyori-san had a slip in their speech towards the end,” she breathes around another tremor of her hand, and continues, “an accent – it sounded northern, from what I could gather.”

She shuts her eyes from a moment, headache abating only slightly in the absence of harsh light.

“They mentioned electro therapy,” under the cover of her sleeve she tentatively flexes her hand. “And the technique they used – I’m sure it used some kind of electric shock-”

“A lightning technique,” the Uchiha corrects blandly.

“Yes,” Miyu wonders if he realises the hypocrisy of their inability to believe that she, a civilian woman with no training, stopped this abduction – while also expecting her to know ninja terms?

Or perhaps that in itself is an attempt to get her to give away more than she intends.

It might have worked, had she been a legitimate suspect. Well, she supposes, they definitely find her suspect enough.

The fact that they believe it’s more likely that a group of ninja children thwarted the infiltrators, rather than Miyu herself, is answer enough.

The officer leaves without further questioning, and Miyu is left in the spectacularly uncomfortable chair to sit and stew in her headache.

Her mouth is dry, and her entire right arm won’t stop with the occasional twitching. She knows in theory, that this is an interrogation tactic of sorts. It rankles.

She wonders if the children are okay, if any of them got injured in any way once she went down.

They leave her in that room another three hours before the door opens soundlessly to reveal Uchiha Fugaku, alongside a bald man with a severe expression. His head and face are heavily scarred, but his flat, dark eyes are the most unsettling thing about him.

They both sit opposite her, and Miyu refrains from trying to wet her lips. Her tongue feels about as dry as sandpaper right now, and it’ll only come across as a sign of nervousness.

“You didn’t come up in any of their plans,” says the scarred man in a deep, rough voice.

Miyu remains silent, just barely stopping the almost reflexive twitch of her eyebrow.

_Oh, really?_

Somehow, she keeps her expression and snark under control.

“You will be released, and a notice will be issued to the relevant clans detailing the events of this afternoon.”

Miyu remains silent, calm and still even under Uchiha Fugaku’s familiar stare.

“Do you have anything to add?” asks the Chief of Police after a moment.

“A question,” she speaks up, voice slightly husky from hours of disuse and dehydration. “Hiyori-san and the others…”

She doesn’t elaborate, leaving the question open ended for the two of them to decide what information she’s privy to.

The bald man gives a small shake of his head, and Miyu feels her face twitch out of her impassive mask for just a second. Of course, the infiltrators couldn’t risk leaving the guards alive.

Miyu should have known.

She schools her expression, pressing her lips together lest they betray her and tremble. Smooths out her forehead and brows from where she’d reflexively drawn them together, upset.

Uchiha Fugaku looks away from her, but the bald man doesn’t. He keeps his unnerving eyes on her, eerily focused.

Then they stand, and Miyu follows suit. Her legs feel weak and uncoordinated, and her right hand and arm are tingling and burning now, but neither of these things are as terrible as her headache, so she ignores them.

Shisui and Itachi are standing outside the room, and she refuses to let herself be relieved at their presence. They are part of the KMP. They are ninja.

Duty bound to their village and kage, and unable to protect her here.

She holds herself the same way she does as she faces opponents across a shogi board – calm, composed, with a straight back and just enough softness to seem non-threatening. Her eyes remain trained at their chest-level.

If she meets Itachi’s eyes now, she –

Taking a slow, deep breath, she forces down her emotional turmoil and focuses on making it out of the police station, and then – hopefully – home.

“Miyu,” it’s Shisui that leans close as they step into the chilly night air. “I can take you home?”

He must have noticed her trembling hands despite her attempts to keep them clasped tightly together.

“Please,” she manages to get out shortly, glad he sweeps her legs out from beneath her before they can give out of their own volition. She knows now, to shut her eyes as he moves.

But as they come to a stop on her balcony, she wonders whether she should have left them open. That would’ve been excuse enough for the tears on her cheeks, at least.

He sets her on her feet and there’s a very uncertain second where she’s unsure whether her legs will hold. She makes it a half-step away before an arm slips around her waist.

She doesn’t need to look to know it’s Itachi.

“Miyu-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” her voice is low and scratchy, and she just wants to curl up on the floor of her shower and stay there a while.

He’s silent for a moment as he opens the door and leads her inside.

It’s dark inside, but the light of the moon is enough to cast his face into contrast.

“How can I help?” is the next thing he asks.

Miyu’s arm is burning and aching, her head is pounding, and she thinks her legs have staged a rebellion, but all she wants right now is to feel _clean_.

“Shower,” she murmurs, “then bed.”

Itachi nods, and she doesn’t protests as he sweeps her feet out from under her and takes her to – the main bathroom?

“What-”

He sets her down at the edge of the bathtub, and promptly creates a clone, who exits the bathroom immediately. Itachi runs the water, and upon finding it satisfactory, goes to her vanity cupboards and begins adding a few things to the water.

Miyu shuts her eyes and lets him work.

A small tug on her sleeve, and when she looks up it’s his clone, holding out a plate with a few plain rice balls, two pills which she assumes are pain killers, and a tall glass of water.

She chugs half the glass, first, then downs the painkillers, and forces down one of the rice balls before finishing the rest of the water. The clone disappears into the apartment again, and Miyu is left with Itachi, who only cocks his head slightly to the almost-full bath to let her know it’s ready.

“Call me if you need a hand, otherwise I’ll be back in five minutes.”

He doesn’t close the door behind him, but she can’t seem to care right now.

Slowly, she strips out of her yukata. Her right arm is jittery, but she doesn’t have much trouble. She ties her long hair into a high bun to save herself having to dry it later, and steps into the tub.

It’s filled with bubbles and petals, and is the perfect temperature.

Miyu sighs shakily as she bends her knees and crosses her arms over them. 

She blinks away sharp images of Hiyori’s _wrong_ face, of the feeling of being a powerless pawn on a board of dangerous pieces.

Audible footsteps alert her of Itachi’s return. She lets her head rest against her forearms, rather glad for the brief relief that the darkness brings her pounding head.

She’s almost, _almost_ startled by the rough feel of a wet washcloth against her bare skin. It rolls in small circles along her shoulders, zigzagging down the length of her back.

She sighs at the feel of it.

“May I…?”

Miyu doesn’t know what he’s asking. At this point she doesn’t care.

She nods into her arms.

Soon the washcloth is replaced with his hands. His thumbs press evenly on either side of her spine, and he guides them down into the water all the way to the small of her back. He brings them back up, fingers gliding slickly against her skin.

She thinks she might make a tiny mewl of appreciation, but his hands are kneading at the stiff muscles to the sides of her neck, and it’s all she can do not to fall asleep on the spot.

He presses into the tense stretch between her shoulders and neck, squeezing and rolling until she really does sigh, entire body loosening as he works his genius.

Itachi places his thumbs to either side of her spine again, drawing them outward and away from each other. He passes over and under her shoulder blades, touch barely-there against the sides of her ribs.

If he were to reach around a little more, he’d be touching –

“Bedtime,” his voice is low and soft. Miyu huffs, but acknowledges that the water has been steadily cooling.

“Might need help,” she mumbles, only just realising how exhausted she is.

Itachi says nothing, only brings a fluffy white towel, holding it out between them as a barrier. Miyu shakily stands, and he wraps it around her without so much as a peek.

She tries not to feel disappointed at that.

He all but lifts her out of the tub, and once she’s seated on the edge once again, he cleans up the bathroom. She dries herself tiredly, and seemingly between one blink and the next, the room is spotless, and he’s holding her sleep yukata out to her, face turned away.

Placing her back to him, she drops the towel, and he sets the yukata over her shoulders. She puts it on clumsily, tying it with poor coordination.

Another blink, and her hair is being untied as he settles her to lie in her bed.

“Itachi?”

He pauses, brushing a lock of hair from her face as he leans over her.

“Hm?”

One moment of weakness. One moment is much as she’ll allow herself. If she chooses _this_ particular moment, well. That’s her business.

“Stay?”

He doesn’t need interpretation.

Miyu counts three seconds of indecision before he murmurs –

“Okay.”

The feel of him settling into bed beside her, a constant source of warmth and – Miyu lets herself think it, lets herself _feel_ it, for what feels like the first time in forever – comfort.

Tucked against his side, right arm tingling and head still aching slightly, part of her wishes the day would melt away like the last snows of winter in the face of the springtime sun.

.

Miyu stands before the reception hall and tries to settle her jittery nerves.

A scant three days have passed since Konoha thwarted the infiltrator’s attempts at a kidnapping, and Miyu has been invited to a formal meeting of the ninja and merchant clans.

Her invitation had been ambiguous, only naming a time and a place, but Naruto had been the one to reassure her that it was nothing terrible when he had delivered it to her yesterday morning.

Itachi had walked her just one street short of the venue before disappearing without a trace in between steps.

Miyu shakes off the annoyance that brings, and steadily inhales and exhales for a good half a minute to calm herself. Now isn’t the time for her unstable emotional or mental state.

She steps inside, past the guards at the double doors, and into the high-ceilinged venue. It’s tastefully decorated, and waiters pass between groups of finely dressed people with drinks and finger food.

She’s rather glad that she dressed in one of her nicer kimono, as many clan women don their own alongside others who wear dresses or even suits here and there.

Miyu scans the room for a familiar face and has to forcibly suppress any signs of relief as Nara Shikaku approaches her.

His smile is grim, but he offers her his arm after they’ve bowed to one another in greeting. Miyu lets herself grip his bicep as her nerves threaten to claw their way up her throat. Too many eyes on her, and she feels _ill_.

“Miyu-san,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, “you’ve… caused quite a stir.”

She slants him a look in-between polite nods to people who must be clan-heads, and murmurs back, “My sincerest apologies for the inconvenience.”

He huffs out a short laugh, but leads her to –

“Shikamaru-san,” she’s sure he can hear the relief in her tone, if the way he smiles at her in greeting is any indication.

“Good evening, Miyu-san,” he says as they bow to one another, “I should probably fill you in on what’s going on.”

“Oh?” Miyu looks to Shikaku, who is scanning the room with sharp eyes, but obviously paying attention to their conversation.

“The infiltrators are from Lightning. The Hokage is yet to announce how he is handling it, but the clans are meeting tonight to discuss their opinions in a casual setting before a formal council is called.”

Miyu nods, accepting a flute of champagne alongside the Nara clan heir. Shikaku takes a cup of sake, and the three clink glasses with small smiles. She holds it in her left hand, right still tucked against Shikaku's. Sakura had come by the morning after the incident to heal her arm, but she's still been tentative to use it.

“You’re here so the clan heads can scope you out,” Shikaku murmurs as he brings his cup to his mouth. “They will try to repay you, seeing as you raised the alarm and kept the children safe.”

Miyu hums, letting her own gaze flit over the powerful players in the room.

Her eyes catch on the form of Uchiha Mikoto, who is smiling in that terribly sharp way of hers at a woman who has her back to Miyu.

“And I suppose they want to get a look at me before they decide on any thanks?” her question is pitched low, but she can’t quite drag her eyes away from Mikoto’s face.

Is she taunting whoever she’s with, right now? Unease churns in her gut, and she decides not to drink any more than the few sips she’s already consumed.

“Oh, no,” Shikamaru sounds grimly amused, “they’ll be thanking you, one way or another. Just figuring out what – or rather, _who_ , will be appropriate to offer.”

Miyu opens her mouth to reply, but at that moment she sees Mikoto’s eyes narrow incrementally, and her empathy for whoever has incurred the woman’s wrath supersedes her desire to get more information from the pair.

“More on that later,” she says, stepping away, “and please, forgive me.”

She gives no further explanation as she makes her way across the distance to the Uchiha, firming her resolve as she catches Mikoto’s chastising tone.

“-riarch, think you’d let this _woman_ threaten your standing is – _look at me when I’m speaking to you_. I’ve vouched for you since you were a _girl_ , the least you can do is have some pride in your clan and yourself-”

She halts herself abruptly as Miyu comes to a stop beside them.

“Good evening, Uchiha-sama,” she bows deeply, all too aware of the piercing stares focused on her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more.”

Mikoto smiles coldly, bowing shallowly and offering no greeting. Miyu ignores the insult of that alone, and continues with -

“Pardon me for the intrusion, but Nara-sama has urgent need to discuss something with you. He’s by the refreshments, and asked that you hurry.”

It’s a dismissal if anything, and Miyu and Mikoto only stare at each other with their polite masks for a few seconds more before the matriarch wordlessly excuses herself.

As soon as she’s far enough to be out of earshot in the low chatter of the venue, Miyu turns back to the woman before her. She’s young – around Miyu’s age, seemingly.

Her hair is a rich, dark brown, hanging straight until her shoulders. Her eyes are pretty and almond-shaped, irises almost a perfect match to her hair. She has a small beauty mark beneath her right eye, and her face is finely structured. She’s an Uchiha without doubt.

“I apologise for the intrusion,” Miyu offers, keeping her voice low, “are you alright?”

She doesn’t feel the need to elaborate any further. The woman only blinks, dark eyes sweeping Miyu from head to foot.

“Yes,” she responds at last, and her voice is soft. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Miyu responds, offering a small, genuine smile, “I’m Sugawara Miyu.”

“Oh.” Another assessing look. “Miyu, huh. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Uchiha Izumi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miyu: can I just lie down for a sec-  
> Intrusive thoughts: no  
> Miyu: please I just need a moment-  
> Infiltrators: surprise, bitch  
> Miyu: but-  
> The clans: wassup  
> Miyu: ;-;  
> Uchiha Izumi: yo  
> Miyu:...


End file.
